Bad Husband

by Shey Stahl

  He snorts and takes the fresh beer the bartender handed him. “And you wonder why I don’t want to get married and have kids.” And then he motions to me while looking at the bartender. “Can you get my boy here a shot?”

  I wave him off. “No, I don’t need one.”

  Brantley stares at me and then knocks my cell phone out of my hands. It’s probably for the better at this point. “Yes you do.” His eyes shift to the bartender. “He’s getting a divorce.”

  “It’s not official,” I mumble, still holding onto the fact that it’s not final yet.

  “Pretty official,” Brantley says, chuckling. “She filed.”

  “Yeah but I still have sixty days, or something like that.”

  Brantley reaches for his beer and shakes his head like I’m the stupidest motherfucker alive for believing this. “Uh huh.”

  The bartender then hands me whiskey. “Looks like you need this.”

  He’s right. I do.

  HAVE YOU EVER seen a jackhammer ripping up concrete?

  That’s essentially how I feel when I pry my eyes open the next morning. The bright light pouring through the front windows is similar to, I don’t know, pure agony exploding behind my eyes.

  Rolling over, I take a pillow and cover my face with it, hoping maybe it suffocates me.

  You know that feeling you get when you know someone’s watching you? I’m getting it right now, so I peel the pillow back to see Callan standing over me.

  “What?”

  He blinks. Twice. “You’re alive? For a moment I wasn’t sure.”

  I toss the pillow at him teasingly. “I’m not sure if I am or not.”

  “You’re talking, Dad. You’re alive.” He snorts and tosses the pillow back at me. “Did you make Mom mad again?”

  “Probably.” Groaning, I attempt to sit up, my stomach rolling as I do so. Never again.

  Immediately I’m reminded of why I’m on the couch again.

  Since last night didn’t work for asking her out on a date, I’m should try a different approach, shouldn’t I?

  My muscles are feeling a little tight from two nights on the couch. I think I need a massage, don’t you?

  Callan sits down beside me. “You’re going to be late.”

  Fuck, he’s right.

  I know I mentioned this before—okay, you watched me charging into her work, so I know you know—but Madison is a massage therapist at West Bay. She didn’t start out to be one, but the job came about not long after Callan was born and it allowed her to just work three days a week and have some spending money.

  I’m actually jealous she got a job doing it because when she was going to school for her certification, I was given massages every night. Couldn’t complain there. And then it stopped once she got the job.

  So what’s my plan for asking Madison on a date to convince her she loves me, not just my dick?

  I’d trap her where she couldn’t get away from me.

  The salon. In a closed room with the door locked.

  If she wasn’t going to talk to me at home, I’d schedule an appointment to have a massage, right? Maybe one with a happy ending?

  When life kicks some people down, they stay down. Not me. I will straight up donkey kick my way back up.

  Thankfully it’s a different girl working at the counter Thursday morning when I make my way into the salon. You’re probably wondering why I’m not at work?

  Well, the permits got held up for the compliance inspection and Trey finally had medical clearance to work again. Believe me, I’m feeling bad about not being at work today, but I had to get her to see I cared and hopefully, I still have a business once she agrees to stay married to me.

  I grin, flashing a sideways smirk at the young girl behind the counter. Women fall all over themselves for smirking. It’s like we’re trying to lead them on with it, and guess what? We know it.

  You know how I got Madison to sleep with me that first night we met at the Halloween party? You’d be surprised. It wasn’t my vampire costume, although I looked fucking amazing in it. And yeah, I did ask to suck her blood, but it was the smirk that sealed the deal.

  “How can I help you?” the girl asks, tucking her jet-black hair behind her ears.

  “I’d like to schedule an appointment with Madison Cooper.” I wink. “I hear she’s the best.”

  Did you notice I didn’t say what I wanted to see Madison for? This will come back to bite me in the ass. Believe me. Just wait.

  “She has an opening at ten this morning. I can put you in there.”

  I look down at my watch. That’s in twenty minutes. Perfect!

  “And your name?”

  Fuck! I panic a little internally, but I’m quick to say, “Jeff Westin.” It’s the name of one of my clients, but Madison will never know.

  She types away and then smiles up at me. “Great!”

  Jesus, that was easy. Why didn’t I think of this Tuesday when she wouldn’t answer her phone?

  “I can get you into the room if you’d like.” The girl, whose name tag reads Lindsey, points down the hall that’s lined with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking a Camelback Mountain.

  I follow her down the hall and into a private room with no windows and a table.

  Lindsey smiles tenderly, but her eyes drift lower to my waist. Is she looking? Nah, she can’t be, or can she?

  Christ, this place is full of weirdos. I’m not sure I want Madison working here.

  “You can undress all the way, or however you feel comfortable and get under the blanket.”

  I nod and go to close the door behind me, but she stands there staring at me like she wants me to invite her in.

  “Thanks,” I say and then slam the door shut.

  As I stare at the dimly lit room around me, I’m not sure what to do. Should I keep my clothes on… or… undress and let her be surprised when she notices it’s her husband?

  I decide to undress all the way but leave my boxers on and lay face down on the table. She might not even notice it’s me, aside from my back. She’ll probably notice that because guess who has scratch marks on his upper arms from his wife?

  This guy. Proudly.

  It’s another ten minutes when there’s a soft knock at the door and Madison enters the room. “Good morning, Mr. Westin,” she says, her voice just above a whisper.

  I don’t say anything in reply because once she hears my voice, she’s going to know it’s me, right?

  Maybe not.

  “Oh, it says here you’re in for waxing? Why don’t you turn over and we’ll get started?” I peek one eye open and see her moving around the room toward what looks to be hot wax.

  Waxing? You have to be shitting me. For the love of all things holy, why didn’t I specify what I needed?

  No wonder Lindsey looked at my junk.

  “Um, I think I made a mistake.”

  “Oh my God, Ridley.” Yep. Told you she’d know my voice. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “I’m feeling a little sore. Can you give me a massage?”

  “No. I can’t.” She blinks rapidly, stepping back away from me as if she’s trying to make excuses. “I have appointments.”

  “No, you don’t.” Twisting around on the bed, I sit up and let the blanket fall away. “I made an appointment, and I’m a paying customer.”

  Her brow furrows just slightly, like she can’t decide if she should be angry or amused I schedule myself with her. I feel myself smiling. “I think this is against the rules….”

  “Well, the girl at the counter didn’t say anything, so here I am. But I think she likes me, and I also lied about my name.”

  “You could really get me in trouble for this. And Lindsey flirts with everyone. Don’t flatter yourself.”

  “Oh.”

  She nods to the hot wax. “Well since you’re here and you weren’t paying attention and scheduled to have your balls waxed, guess you’re going to have some smooth balls.”

  “No fucking way
.” My hands fly to my balls cupping them with care. “I asked for a massage.”

  “Nope. You didn’t. You should have been paying more attention instead of flirting with Lindsey.”

  “I wasn’t flirting with her.” Groaning, I flop back against the table. “I didn’t ask for a wax, did I?”

  “You did.” She smiles, taking a wooden stick and stirring the steaming wax. “Take your boxers off and lay back, husband.”

  I do as she says because any time I get to take my clothes off in front of my wife is a good day. But I didn’t miss this part. She said husband, didn’t she? Did I hear that correctly?

  One point for me but when that fucking wax hits my nut sac, I lose every point I’ve even gained in the last two days when I scream.

  My legs tense when she applies it. “Fuck, that’s hot!”

  Madison laughs, clearly entertained. “That’s just the wax, you big baby.”

  I can feel my balls tightening in preparation as Madison takes my dick in her hand and moves it to the side. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have a semi already, because I totally do. Hello, my dick’s in her hand. Oh, the possibilities.

  I raise my head up, my arm supporting my neck behind my head. “Does this come with a happy ending?”

  She snorts out a laugh. “That’s against the rules, sir.”

  Why is it hot when she calls me sir?

  She’s waiting for the wax to cool, I assume because there are seconds of downtime after the wax is applied and my dick remains in her hand like she’s cradling him. And then I think shit, does she hold dicks in her hand all day?

  It’s official. She needs to quit.

  “How often do you do this?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

  She looks up at me and then shrugs. “Maybe once a month.”

  “And you hold their dick in your hand?”

  “Well no, I make them do it.”

  “So you’re holding mine because you want to?”

  She doesn’t answer me. Instead, she pulls the fucking wax strip off my balls and pain shoots through them immediately. It feels like someone has taken a branding iron to my nuts. She might as well have kicked me because the feeling is somewhat similar.

  It’s emasculating to have your wife waxing your balls and having you scream like a girl. I don’t like it.

  When she’s finished with the second strip, I sit up and hold my sore burning-like-lava-has coated-them balls. My breath comes out in short gasps. “No more. Stop that.”

  She’s raising her hands from me, laughing like this is the funniest shit she’s ever seen.

  “Goddamn,” I scowl at her and then struggle not to bite through my bottom lip. “Why are you laughing?”

  “Because you’re being such a baby about it.”

  A fiery stabbing sensation rushes through my crotch and I dream of tea-bagging and a brick of ice for relief. “Well, you wax your clit, and we’ll see how you feel.”

  She reaches for the wax again and pushes me back with her hand on my chest. “My clit doesn’t have hair on it, smart ass. And, I have waxed my lady bits before and didn’t scream at all.”

  “Well, give you a fuckin’ medal.” I stare at her, my heart pounding. “Who waxed you?”

  If she says a man did, I’ll kill him.

  “Lindsey does it on occasions.”

  Thank God.

  The last strip she applies and rips off like it’s just a piece of tape is by far the worst. I can’t even explain what it feels like except it’s similar to when you rip off a toenail. I’m 90 percent sure she took off my first layer of skin.

  Madison can’t stop laughing when I fly off the table and yank my jeans on. “No more! I can’t handle it.” I’m pacing the tiny room, and it makes it look like I’m going in circles. “I don’t care if you have more to do, leave it like this.”

  “It’s done.” She raises her hands, still laughing hysterically and I can’t remember the last time she’s laughed this hard. Probably last night when I broke my ass on the tile floor in the bathroom. And then her laughter dies off, and her eyes move to my crotch. “I have to say, it looks nice.”

  Say what?

  I didn’t look. My balls feel like they’re on fire right now and I don’t want to look but my curiosity gets the better of me, and I peek inside my jeans.

  Moving my dick aside, I see red balls. Bright red balls that are screaming “fuck you, motherfucker” at me as tiny pin-drop sized blood coats the skin. I’m fucking bleeding. Told you she took off skin!

  But they’re smooth and strangely make my dick look bigger. Not that I needed any assistance in that department, just so we’re clear, but, I see the advantages.

  I shake my head. I think I’m… I don’t know… upset with myself? Disappointed maybe? “I can’t believe I did this.”

  “Neither can I,” Madison says, watching me carefully as I button my jeans and reach for my shirt. We stand there staring at each other when she asks, “Why did you make an appointment?”

  My throat tightens and I swallow, attempting to push away the pain raging in my pants to what I came here for. Her. To ask her out on a date. I’m a little mad at her at the moment for skinning me. “I came here to ask you out, and I didn’t know how to do it.”

  Her brow pulls together. “What are you talking about?”

  “On a date.”

  She sighs, her shoulders slumping. “Ridley, just face it. It’s over and we just need to make this less painful.”

  Fuck her. Less painful? My balls have been skinned for her. But do you see her face right now? Look really close because there’s something in the way her lashes flutter and her eyes sadden.

  I drop to my knees before her so we’re eye level as she’s sitting on a stool. My palms frame her face. “Tell me right now to my fucking face you don’t love me. At all. That you want this divorce, and I’ll walk away and give you what you want.”

  She says nothing and blinks, slowly.

  “I’m fucking trying, okay. Maybe I’ve been blind for a while, but you can’t dismiss that once you told me how you felt I’ve been trying.”

  Again, she says nothing because she knows it’s the truth.

  “Then go out with me. Let’s try to make this work and if in these fifty-something days I have left, I can’t make you see you’re still in love with me, then I’ll give you the divorce.”

  Her eyes search mine, darting to my lips and then my eyes. “So you’re going to make me fall back in love with you?”

  I pull her toward me, my breath blowing across her face. “No. I’m going to remind you why you fell in love with me. Because, honey, you and I both know you haven’t stopped.”

  She can’t argue with me, and she knows it.

  “Have dinner with me tonight. I’ll get a babysitter.”

  “We can’t tonight. Nathalie’s coming over with Grady for dinner.”

  Ah, yes, Madison’s best friend, Nathalie, and her devil child. You think Noah the cat killer’s bad, wait until you meet Grady. He makes Noah look like an angel.

  “Fine. Friday night.”

  “Callan’s birthday party is the next day.”

  “So? Doesn’t mean we can’t go out.”

  She raises an eyebrow at me. “Well, his birthday is Friday so that’d mean we’re going out alone on our kid’s birthday?”

  Fuck. “You’re right. Sunday then?”

  Madison stands and grabs onto my shoulders to make me stand with her. She twists me around so I’m facing the door. “Fine, Sunday I’ll go on a date with you. Now, will you leave?”

  “Yes,” I say proudly, forgetting about my burning nut sac for a split second. “But, can you apply some lotion to these tonight?”

  She rolls her eyes. “No.”

  I may not be getting my nuts massaged tonight but still, I had a date and time to at least work this out. That’s progress, right?

  Walking awkwardly back to the counter, Lindsey is all smiles. “How was your wax, Mr. Westin?”

&n
bsp; Do you think there’s a reason as to why she didn’t ask me what I wanted to see Madison for and just scheduled me in?

  I grunt my reply, which is a “fuck off” muttered under my breath and hand her my credit card. It’s then I notice Madison is standing behind the counter now too, smiling.

  Of course she’s smiling. She got to inflict pain on her husband she’s trying to divorce.

  Apparently, this is funny to them. I don’t even pay attention to what I’m signing and hope I wasn’t charged more than five bucks to have my ball skin ripped off.

  Madison waves to me, still all smiles. “Have a nice day, Mr. Westin.”

  Guess what? She’s wearing her wedding ring. I can’t help but feel pretty good about that. But the feeling disappears when I attempt to walk.

  I look back over my shoulder. “You too, Mrs. Cooper.”

  THE CONFERENCE OR whatever that was scheduled at one was pushed back to next week because the judge had a scheduling conflict. I’m excited because that not only allows me to get some work done but maybe by the time next weekend arrives, she’ll have forgotten all about this divorce nonsense.

  It’s around seven that night when I finally make it home after hanging the rest of the drywall in the house and taping. With the burning sensation below my belt, all I want to do is sit on a bag of ice. I’m certainly not ready to see Nathalie and her devil child, so I invite Brantley over for dinner.

  He groans when he sees Nathalie’s Trailblazer parked on the street. “You didn’t tell me she was going to be here.”

  “Whoops.”

  He glares and opens the door. Just so you know, Brantley and Nathalie met about the time Madison and I did. We were all at the same party that night. They hated each other. Like couldn’t even be in the same room together without wanting to kill one another.

  Nathalie thinks he’s a pig who uses women, and he thinks she’s a bitch. They’re essentially both right, but I have to defend my friend here. He’s always honest with women, and they know ahead of time he’s just in it for the sex.