Wanted: A Good Wife & Great Sex (A Bargained Marriage)

by SL Beabhar

  From where she stood, she could hear him opening and closing drawers as he searched for his wallet. There was one last bang before he returned to the hallway. He was prepared to rush past her again, but she reached out and grabbed his arm.

  "Is something wrong?" she asked.

  He stared down at her hand, then dragged his eyes up to her face. He blinked at her a few times before he turned away and slid out the door.

  She heard the engine of the pickup truck sputter awake. She rushed to the window just in time to see him reverse out of the driveway and speed away. Tapping her finger against the glass, she struggled to wrap her mind around what just happened. Was it something she said? Was he struggling with his conscience?

  Phoebe retreated from the window and returned to the kitchen. She went to the fridge, curious about how much food was in the house. Opening the door, she was totally surprised to find three rolls of refrigerated cookie dough, a tub of margarine, and an expired package of roasted turkey deli meat.

  "You've gotta be shitting me," she said, stepping to the cupboards. She was relieved to find a better supply of canned soups, jars of spaghetti sauce, and baked beans, but there wasn't much variety. "I guess that might explain the panic." She furrowed her brow and pushed the door closed. "I guess."

  Biting her lip, she leaned against the kitchen island and thought about her present situation. Here she was, only hours into her new life, and she had no clue what she'd gotten herself into.

  Ash's house was nice. His kitchen was open and expansive with stainless steel appliances, marble countertops, and ceramic tile flooring. It was a kitchen more suited to someone who spent a lot of time cooking, surrounding themselves with practical yet durable elements. And from her own brief exploration of the house, she knew the rest of the house was equally charming.

  "Where's Ash going?"

  Phoebe leapt in surprise and turned to greet Reggie. "It's a nice day, ain't it?"

  Reggie stood in the entrance to the kitchen with a scowl on her face. She gripped the handle of her cane, while most of her weight shifted onto her strong leg. There was an ornery glint in her eyes. Almost calculating.

  "Would you help me to one of those stools?" She held out her arm, waiting for Phoebe to assist her.

  Phoebe stepped closer to Reggie. She was about to take the older woman's arm when she looked at Reggie's unstable gait and then the height of the stool.

  "One second," Phoebe said, lifting a finger in the air. She shuffled into the dining table and grabbed one of the chairs. She carried it back to the island and set it down. "Here you go."

  Reggie looked down at the chair and shook her head. "I said the stool."

  Phoebe rested her hands against the back of the dining chair and rocked forward. "Yes, I know. It's just the seat is a bit higher than this chair, and it might be a wee bit difficult to climb onto."

  "That's my choice to make."

  "You're right. It is your choice." Phoebe knew she was being tested. This wasn't the first time she'd dealt with a difficult client. Reggie was trying to set her up for failure; if Phoebe helped her onto the stool and she fell off, then it would be Phoebe's fault. If Ash came home and found Reggie on the floor, crying that she couldn't get up, then Phoebe's belongings would be packed right back up, and she'd be ushered out the door. But by declining Reggie's request, she was setting herself up as the villain. Someone who wasn't willing to accommodate her client's wishes. She didn't mind being the villain, if it meant she'd able to keep Reggie safe.

  Phoebe stepped away from Reggie and pulled the dining room chair with her. She nodded her head towards the stool. "Well then, you don't need my help getting onto the stool."

  Reggie struck her cane against the floor. "I need your help."

  "So I can help you into the chair, which is much easier for you to sit in, or you can climb onto the stool and assume your own risk. Really, it's your choice."

  If Reggie's eyes were flames, Phoebe would be incinerated. The other woman lifted her chin, stiffened her jaw, and tucked in her lips.

  Phoebe leaned against the dining room chair and smiled. She didn't challenge Reggie's gaze. She simply waited for her next move.

  For what felt like forever, they remained like that. But then Phoebe noticed a slight tremor in Reggie's hand. A slight buckling of her strong leg.

  Thankfully, Ash's timing was impeccable. She heard the rumbling of his truck as he pulled into the driveway. She struck her hand against the chair, then took a couple of steps backward. "While you make up your mind, I'm going to help Ashley with the groceries."

  Phoebe left the kitchen, hoping Reggie took the third option available to her. One that she purposefully chose not to vocalize.

  She walked through the house, stepped out onto the porch, then trotted down the stairs. Ash was at the passenger side, grabbing grocery bags from the seat. When he noticed her approach, he held out a couple of bags, which she happily accepted.

  "I hope there's more than cookie dough and soup in these bags?"

  Grabbing two bags per hand, he smiled crookedly. "There might be."

  Phoebe watched as he entered the house. She waited a few seconds, listening closely for any shouts of dismay. When none came, she felt it was safe enough for her to return to the kitchen.

  What greeted her was one big step forward. There, sitting in the dining chair, was Reggie with a triumphant look on her face. It was what Phoebe had secretly hoped would happen. Stifling a grin, she joined Ash at the fridge where she began unloading the groceries.

  In spite of Reggie's testiness and Ash's strangeness, she was happy. Not only was this a situation she knew she could handle, she also hadn't been murdered.

  CHAPTER NINE

  "Would you like anything else?" asked the server, pouring more coffee into his cup. Ash could tell she wasn't offering him anything off the menu.

  Ash smiled and shook his head. "This last cup of coffee is all I need, ma'am."

  "Well," she said, bending just enough for him to catch a glimpse of her breasts, "if you change your mind, my name's Tisha." She winked, then retreated from the table.

  He watched her go, waiting for the usual stirrings in his loins, but nothing happened. Dismayed, he glanced down at himself and wondered if he'd had too much caffeine.

  "I don't know why I even bother going out in public with you," said his friend Bobby.

  Ash pulled his gaze from his lap, then looked towards the kitchen doorway where Tisha had disappeared. "Because I always pick up the check?"

  Bobby laughed and wagged his finger. His ruddy face nearly matched the color of his red hair. "There's that." He then rubbed his nose before slouching in his chair. "Is that Lenore?" He thrust his chin forward, towards the back of the restaurant.

  Ash turned in his seat to look.

  "For fuck's sakes, Coop, you're not supposed to be that obvious."

  Ash whipped his head around, then plucked the napkin from his lap and threw it at his friend. "You're paranoid."

  "Was that Lenore?"

  Ash grinned. "Not unless she's lost fifteen pounds and shed a good decade off her age."

  "I heard she's using the alimony to make upgrades. It's possible she went on a diet, hired a trainer, and found a good plastic surgeon." Bobby again rubbed his nose, and Ash noticed the tiredness around his eyes.

  "You doing okay?" The bitter destruction of Bobby's marriage left a sour taste in Ash's mouth. When he'd first met Bobby, the guy had been happily married for four years. That was five years ago. Since then, Bobby had learned that his wife had been unfaithful during his deployments. And Ash's once happy-go-lucky friend was now a bitter, lonely guy who feared running into his ex-wife.

  Bobby sat quietly, clutching his cup between his hands. He took a couple of sips before sniffing loudly. The divorce had been hard on him. He'd gained a good twenty pounds that he was struggling to shed; if he didn't lose the weight before his next physical, he risked being separated from the Air Force for not maintaining physical
standards. "I'm good. What about you? Come to realize your mistake yet?"

  Ash quirked his eyebrows. "What mistake?"

  Bobby glanced around the crowded restaurant, then leaned over the table. "You know what I'm talking about. Your stupid plan to game the system."

  "I'm not gaming the system." Yeah, he was totally gaming the system. But he would do anything for Reggie.

  Bobby leaned back in his chair. "Really? You're marrying some girl just so she can provide free labor."

  Ash chuckled. "Trust me. It's not free."

  "Whatever." Bobby shrugged.

  "This is a mutually beneficial relationship." Ash rapped his knuckles against the table. "And, if all goes well, it's only temporary." He cocked his head to the side and pointed at Bobby. "Just like yours."

  "Fuck you."

  Ash folded his hands on the table and grinned. "For the right terms, I'd be open to it."

  Bobby laughed, then turned sober. "Look, Coop, I just don't want this to blow up in your face. `You always told me you had no plans to get married. I just don't want you to make a colossal mistake, especially when you can avoid it." He puckered his lips. "You don't know her. She could have a string of ex-husbands and a slew of little bastards."

  "What happened to you?" Ash asked, squinting an eye. "You were the one who loved kids, remember? Now you're calling them bastards."

  "Coop, I'm being serious."

  Ash knew his friend meant well. Ash had spent the entirety of their friendship celebrating his singlehood, and now he was about to jump head first into marriage. "I did some research. Her credit's decent. No criminal background." He shrugged. "Plus, she's cute enough."

  Bobby's brows lifted towards his receding hairline. His blue eyes danced in merriment. "Cute, huh?"

  Ash nodded.

  "I thought you were hoping for someone plain."

  Ash nodded again. "Yeah, well, it didn't work out that way."

  "What does she look like?"

  "Why?"

  This time, Bobby shrugged. "Just curious. Humor me."

  Ash clicked his tongue and conjured up a mental image of Phoebe. "She's about five seven or so. Maybe a size medium? I don't know."

  "Go on," said Bobby, rolling a finger. "That sounds average, not cute. Tell me more."

  Ash released a breath. In the brief time he'd known Phoebe, he'd memorized her features, but Bobby didn't need to know that. His friend would crow about it and make it into a bigger deal than it was. Tilting the coffee cup in his hand, Ash watched the liquid slosh back and forth against the sides as he made his voice disaffected. "She's got black hair and dark brown eyes."

  "Wait," Bobby slapped his palm against the table, turning a few heads. He lifted a hand in apology before lowering his voice. "You're telling me that your soon-to-be wife isn't tall, blond, and Northern European?" He threw back his head and laughed. "I want to meet her."

  "You will. I need a witness."

  Bobby sniffed and rubbed his hand over his nose. "You're really serious about this? You're about to be leg-shackled to someone you hardly know?" He squinted at Ash. "What are you two going to do about sex?"

  Ash's eyes widened. He would have loved to tell Bobby that it hadn't crossed his mind, but it would have been an obvious lie. He loved sex. Except for deployments and his recent stint babysitting Reggie, he rarely went a few days without it.

  When he'd first concocted this idea, he'd thought about coming to a mutual understanding with his wife. An understanding that included them being able to see other people as long as their affairs were discreet. But that was when he thought he'd be marrying a plain Jane, someone who wouldn't stir his interest.

  It still surprised him how much Phoebe intrigued him. He could barely tolerate being around her for a few minutes before his vivid imagination took over. He found himself thinking about her frequently, to the point that he didn't find himself lusting for anyone else. Not even the women who fit within his usual type.

  Ash flattened his hands against the table and stared down at his fingers. Soon he would be wearing a wedding band. And the thought wasn't as abhorrent as he had previously imagined.

  "Maybe in time, she and I might come to an understanding. We're two mature--"

  Bobby laughed loudly, once again drawing attention to their table.

  Ash screwed up his face, but continued with his thought. "We're two mature and rational adults. She seems to like me, and I"--he lifted his hands from the table and placed them on his lap--"like her enough."

  "You're seriously going to fuck this up." Bobby pulled a tissue from his pocket and blew his nose.

  "If you say so," Ash said, pushing away from the table. "We better get back. Traffic gets bad around this time."

  "Does your wife know you were eating out for dinner?"

  Ash removed his wallet, counted out enough bills to cover the check and a generous tip, then walked away from the table.

  "You didn't tell her, did you?" Bobby called out from behind him.

  As Ash exited the restaurant, he started to feel a bit of heartburn. Stepping away from the door to let Bobby out, he began to pound on his chest. "I shouldn't have eaten the enchiladas."

  "No one orders the enchiladas," Bobby said, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. Two young women walked past them, one shooting a scathing glance in Bobby's direction. He smiled apologetically but removed a cigarette and stuck it in his mouth. He took a couple of steps to put distance between himself and the restaurant's door. Then he pulled a lighter from his pocket and lit his cigarette.

  Ash watched him, feeling the burning spread across his chest. He shifted his weight from one foot to another.

  "By the way," Bobby said, pulling the cigarette from his lips, "that's not heartburn you feel. It's guilt."

  CHAPTER TEN

  Phoebe removed the last glass from the dishwasher and wiped the excess water from its rim. She was opening the cabinet door to place it on the shelf when she heard Ash's truck pull into the driveway. She hooked the towel onto the stove door handle, then walked out of the kitchen.

  She'd just reached the living room when he opened the front door and stepped into the house. He crossed the room, pulled the hat from his head, and placed it in the closet. As he was untying his necktie, she walked to the armchair and sat down.

  "I made you a plate," she said, stretching her legs out in front of her. She pointed back towards the kitchen. "It's in the microwave."

  Ash shot her a glance over his shoulder, then unbuttoned the first two buttons of his light blue shirt. When he seemed sufficiently comfortable, he walked around the couch and dropped onto it. His head fell back, and he released a heavy sigh as he relaxed.

  "I should have called," he said, looking at the ceiling.

  In the five days since her arrival, he'd eaten every breakfast and dinner at the house. She usually packed a lunch for him to take to work, but there were times when he planned to have lunch with friends, and he would give her a heads-up. This was the first dinner he had missed. She'd wondered when he would come home, but it hadn't bothered her that he had missed dinner. She was more bothered by the fact that she had missed him.

  She shrugged and placed her hands between her thighs. "You usually get home about five. I figured you either had to stay late or were meeting friends after work." She cocked her head and smiled. "It's no big deal. I don't need to know your whereabouts."

  "Still." Dropping his head, he crossed his arms over his chest. He pinned her with his bright amber eyes. "Look. We should probably sort some things out. We've talked about what you'll do for Reggie, and what I'll do to compensate you. But we really haven't discussed our expectations of each other."

  She puckered her lips but nodded in agreement. "Sounds fair. What were you thinking?"

  His gaze fell to his feet, and he rubbed his hands together. "Do you mind if I'm frank? I tend to be blunt, which gets me into a lot of trouble at times, but I think it's important we just be direct with each other, particularly fo
r this conversation."

  She nodded again.

  "Okay," he said, drawing in another breath. "There's an obvious attraction between us--"

  "There is?" She felt like a deer caught in headlights. Totally exposed and unprepared. She didn't want to have this conversation. She would have much preferred that they continued to ignore the chemistry between them.

  His eyes widened for a second, then his skin darkened. He cleared his throat before continuing. "I mean, in the sense that we're both young and healthy adults. You're single, and I'm single--"

  "We're about to be married." Phoebe noticed his discomfort. He was tugging at his tie that was already loosened as he wiggled deeper into the billowy cushions. For a guy who valued frankness, he seemed to be beating around the bush. "I take it that you're concerned this relationship may become something more than just a convenient arrangement?"

  "I just want to be clear that I don't expect you to...um... feel obligated to have sex with me or anything." He raised a pleading hand. "Not that we couldn't have sex, but it's just not part of the arrangement." He closed his eyes and shook his head. "I mean that if we never sleep with each other, you'll still have a place to stay, and I'll be responsible for all the things we talked about. That's what my lawyer has drafted in the prenup you'll sign."

  His lips quirked at the corners, then he rubbed his palms against his thighs. "When we're married, you'll become my dependent. I'll take you to get your DOD ID, and that's what you'll use to access the base and all the benefits."

  She stifled her relief at the abrupt change in topic. Neither sex nor love factored into her plans. She would care for his aunt, and he would help her become a registered nurse. So what if she had to marry him in order to achieve her ultimate goal?

  "Does it replace my driver's license?" she asked.

  He shook his head. "No. It's just another ID, but it's a federal ID. If you need to go to the doctor, they'll ask for your ID. If you go to the commissary--"

  "Which is like a grocery store, right?"

  He nodded. "Yeah. Then there's the BX, or base exchange, where you can pick up furniture, clothing, and stuff. The base is like its own little city, with a theater, post office, banks, and fast food restaurants." He made a clicking sound out of the corner of his mouth, then leaned forward, placing his arms against his thighs. "After 9-11, there were changes to the GI Bill which allow spouses to use it for educational benefits. Since my inheritance paid for my education, I never needed to use the Bill. When we're married, I'll apply to have it transferred to you. Once it's yours, then it's pretty much yours, even after we divorce."