The Closer: A Marriage of Convenience Romantic Comedy

by Kristy Marie

  “I can do it before I leave. My appointment isn’t until two.”

  Cooper pauses, seeming to consider my offer.

  “Go take a nap, Cooper.” For heaven’s sake. “I’ll handle the lunches.” I know what Pops likes for lunch probably better than he does. “Besides, making food is my forte.”

  A hint of a smirk emerges on Coop’s face. “Except for hot dogs.”

  I laugh out loud. “Yes, except for hot dogs.” Honestly, I can make a hot dog; it’s just I got distracted watching the game or dealing with Ear Hair. I could have done better if I tried.

  “Alright, if you don’t mind doing the lunches, I’ll take a quick nap.” I could add that I was right last night, but he looks exhausted, and honestly, I just want him to take care of himself like he takes care of me and Pops. I shoo him off. “Please, go sleep. You’ve been cranky as fuck this week.”

  He rolls his eyes. “I have not.”

  “The lack of sleep has made you delusional.”

  “I’ll set my alarm,” he says, ignoring me as usual.

  “I’ll wake you up before Pops and I leave,” I insist. “Rest on your day off.”

  The man isn’t a machine. He needs sleep, and not just naps here and there. He works far too much.

  Cooper narrows his eyes like he isn’t sure about sleeping that long. Like it’s a crime that one naps at ten-thirty in the morning on a weekday.

  “Go to bed before I tell Pops you only slept for three hours last night.”

  He jerks at my threat, which was a total guess, since I fell asleep before him, and he was already up with Pops this morning, discussing trade deadlines and free agent stuff that I didn’t understand.

  I feel the smirk when I whisper, “I know what you do at night, my dear husband. Now off to bed.” And to capitalize on his shock, I grab his upper arm, which isn’t as authoritative as when he does it to me given our height difference, lead him to his room and push him down to sit on the bed. I don’t miss that he could have very easily jerked away from me, but he lets me bully him into taking a nap.

  “Sweet dreams.” I kiss him on the forehead to be funny, but when his hands go around my hips, it gives us both pause. My breath hitches and my heart thumps inside my chest as we stand there quietly, absorbing the situation. After a moment, I realize that Cooper is probably waiting for me to get the hell out of his face, so I step back, and he lets me as his arms fall to the mattress.

  I give him a smile that says everything is fine, and I promise I’m not trying to make him my baby daddy. “I’ll wake you up in a couple hours.”

  He doesn’t acknowledge me, just tracks my every move as I walk to the door and gently shut it.

  “Hubs.” I giggle at the nickname as I gently shake Cooper awake. “It’s noon. Pops and I are headed to the senior center.”

  It only takes a couple of shakes before Cooper’s eyes fly open. “I can take him,” he says drowsily.

  “I’m sure you can, but Pops and I hate your taste in music. He can only endure one session with you today.” I cross my heart with my finger. “His words, not mine.”

  Rumpled and looking incredibly adorable, Cooper sits up, his hair an utter wreck. “Both of you can kiss my ass.”

  Don’t tempt me.

  What the hell?

  Did I seriously just think that I could kiss this man’s ass? Who am I? Is this baby trying to find a daddy from within?

  No, no.

  We cannot get attached to Cooper Lexington and his incredible ass. No way. He’s a ballplayer who travels a lot and can get traded a million times over the course of his career. We, little one, need to lay down some roots somewhere, and that can’t be with someone who will never stay in one place very long. We’re not about that life anymore. We want nothing to do with any more adventures.

  “I gotta go.” Without another word, I turn and holler at Pops to get his old legs moving. I am not sticking around to analyze what just happened. Sleepy Cooper can get himself together and get his signature grumpy on, so we can go back to normal.

  McKinley

  I drop Pops off with minimal grumbling since Grace—the lady in pearls’ real name—was there. She was wearing a yellow dress, too, and yellow happens to be Pops’s favorite color. At least, that’s what it looked like when his eyes widened, barely waving goodbye to me as I signed him in.

  I’m proud of him though. The old man needs a woman he can fawn over and tell her all his stories about back in the day. I know that old buzzard, and he definitely doesn’t miss an opportunity to tell anyone about his mischievous grandsons.

  Pulling into the parking lot of the OB’s office I picked from Cooper’s list, I note there is not one shitty car (I’m sorry Lu) in the entire lot.

  Ugh.

  I knew I should have googled more physicians and looked at the Google Earth images. A doctor is a doctor. I don’t need a celebrity one that will probably cost Cooper’s insurance a lot more money than a normal people one. Maybe not, though. I don’t know how these things work.

  I whip into a space in the back and pull out my phone to text Cooper.

  This doctor’s office is too fancy. Will they charge you if I cancel and find another one?

  It doesn’t take him long to respond.

  Go to your appointment.

  Ugh. Look at Mr. Fancy over here thinking I’m being ridiculous when he is used to this treatment. My fingers fly over the keyboard as I hit send.

  Regular—non-celebrity—people don’t use these offices. I bet they have a dress code.

  This time, his response is almost immediate.

  Go to the damn appointment, or I’ll tell them to come out and get you. That’s the power of “celebrity” people’s doctors.

  I swear my mouth drops to my chest as I type out a response.

  Seriously? They will come out here?

  I can imagine the smugness laced in his response.

  Want to test it and see?

  No, I absolutely don’t want to test the power he might have with this office. I can almost picture him calling the front desk and telling them his wife needs help getting out of the car. I would be mortified if they came out in their fancy matching scrubs with a fancy wheelchair and found me, a celebrity wife, in beat-up, old Lu.

  Yeah, I’m not about to see what he can do with a phone call and his celebrity-ness.

  Getting out of the car, I grab my purse (with the wrench inside) and lock the doors, firing off one last text to my annoying husband.

  Fine. I’m going in, but if I’m thrown out because I didn’t wear pink on Thursday, it’ll be all your fault when I cry.

  I mean it too. I’m not a crier, but if someone scoffs at my ripped, unbuttoned jeans, covered by a loose, flowy tank top and asks me to leave, I will cry.

  Who wouldn’t?

  I already don’t belong being married to a wealthy ballplayer and living in his quaint, but extravagant house. I belong with the regular people. Not the ones who go to medical offices that look like art museums with their fancy architecture, glass walls, and chandeliers.

  Taking a deep breath, I push open the glass doors and come to a halt. The open-floor plan with sage green antique-looking furniture and aged tables throughout stare back at me. And yes, there is a massive chandelier in the center. Two of them, actually. Am I at a doctor’s office or the she-shed of Reese Witherspoon?

  “Hi, how can I help you?” I glance to the woman at the desk and, thank heavens, she’s not wearing pink. Instead, her scrubs have printed storks carrying pink and blue bundles.

  Okay, so this might not be so bad after all.

  “Hi,” I say, fumbling around in my purse for the card Cooper gave me. “I have an appointment at two. McKinley Parks—I mean, Lexington.”

  “Hi, Mrs. Lexington. We’ve been expecting you.”

  She doesn’t even need to look at her schedule. That’s one of those fancy things I was talking about. I’ve never been to a doctor’s office where the front desk receptionist didn�
�t have to look at their schedule.

  “I’ll just need you to fill out this paperwork.” She hands me a clipboard and pen.

  “Do you need my insurance card?” I want to be sure I don’t get a bill for this or mine and Cooper’s arrangement will all be for naught.

  “Yes. When you finish your paperwork, you can bring it up here with your ID as well.”

  Okay, good. “Thanks.” I start for the chairs in the center but then turn back. “Mr. Lexington and I are recently married.”

  “Congratulations.”

  I cringe. “Thanks, but I haven’t had a chance to change my ID.”

  The girl behind the counter laughs. “You don’t need to explain. Clearly, he’s kept you very busy.”

  Come again?

  But then I get what she’s saying. I’m pregnant. “Yes, yes, he has.” I smile, not bothering to correct her incredibly wrong assumption.

  I walk away before I can word vomit anything else, find a seat and begin filling out this stack of paperwork that asks me questions about my family history, which I have no clue about. Then there’s this birthing plan stuff that scares the shit out of me. Do I want an enema? OMG. Is there a possibility I will poop giving birth?

  I skip through most of the questions because really? Who knows the answers to these questions when you’re still in shock that you’re pregnant in the first place?

  When I think I’ve answered the most important questions like how I’m going to pay, leaving the father’s name blank, and doing the best I can with the medical history, I walk up to the desk with my insurance card and ID in hand.

  “You’ve finished already?”

  I smile, and it’s fake as shit. “Yeah, I think I need to take some of it home to work on.”

  Dana, at least that’s what her name tag says, laughs. “That’s fine. I’m sure you want to discuss it with Mr. Lexington.”

  Oh, Dana. That’s the last thing I will be discussing with Mr. Lexington. He will never know if I’m choosing to receive an enema or just yolo-ing it and letting the shit fall where it may. Maybe literally.

  “Absolutely,” I lie. “He can’t wait.”

  I think she knows I’m being sarcastic, but her smile never wavers as her gaze travels to my paperwork, looking it over. “Oh, I’ll just need Mr. Lexington’s social security number for insurance purposes.”

  “Oh.” Shit. Mr. Lexington is not my real husband, and I highly doubt he’s up to sharing his social security number with me. But she needs it to file the insurance. “Okay. Let me just call him.”

  I fumble around with my phone, my palms already sweating as it rings.

  “Hey,” he answers, sounding better than he did earlier. He must have downed a few energy drinks.

  “Hey.” Why am I so damn awkward right now? “So, I’m at the office…”

  “Uh, huh.”

  Ugh. He sounds exasperated already. “And they need your social security number for the insurance.” I whisper the last word like the criminal I am.

  “Okay. Do you have a pen?”

  I shake my head. “I’m just going to hand the phone to Dana, and she can get it from you.” This man has done too much for me, and I’m not going to invade his privacy like that.

  A noise, something like a huff, goes through the phone before I hand it to Dana. She looks super eager as she takes the phone, her voice changing ever so slightly as she speaks to him, taking down his number. “Will you be joining Mrs. Lexington today? We encourage both parents to attend the first appointment while we go over what to expect during the pregnancy.”

  I choke and try to mask it with a cough.

  Please, God. Don’t let Cooper faint or tell this lady this is not his baby. I can handle a lot of things, but I’d rather these people draw their own conclusions from my lack of information on the form. Not from my husband shouting it out and embarrassing me, especially since I already insinuated to Dana that Mr. Lexington and I bumped uglies for weeks after saying I do.

  But Cooper wouldn’t do that to me. Would he?

  “I understand, Mr. Lexington. Thank you for the information.” Dana hands the phone back to me and I… freak out. I don’t know what Cooper said to Dana, and I really don’t want to know. So instead of thanking him, I just hang up and smile at Dana. “He had to go to practice. He’s always so busy.”

  If she thinks I’m crazy for not telling my superstar husband that I love him and will see him later, she doesn’t let it show. And I appreciate that immensely.

  “We’ll call you back in just a bit. Here’s your unfinished paperwork, if you want to add more while you wait.”

  Sure. Like that’s gonna happen, but I take the papers anyway and shove them in my purse.

  It’s about fifteen minutes later when another nurse (not in pink either) calls my name, but I don’t answer because she says McKinley Lexington.

  “Mrs. Lexington?” she confirms when I finally approach after her third call.

  “Yes, I’m sorry. I zoned out. I need a nap.” I use Cooper’s excuse.

  “No worries. Follow me and we’ll get your vitals.”

  We go through a range of tests that include weight—which I refuse to look at—and blood pressure, and they take like a million tubes of blood before I am led into the doctor’s office where a nice man with glasses and gray hair sits.

  “Hi, Mrs. Lexington. I’m Dr. Montgomery. I’ll be your physician during the course of your pregnancy.”

  I reach my hand out and shake his. “It’s nice to meet you, Dr. Montgomery.”

  “Is Mr. Lexington joining you today?”

  Dammit. Do all husbands join their wives on their first visit? What if they have to work, or what if I was artificially inseminated and had a bad case of girl power?

  I smile sweetly at the doctor. It’s not his fault for noticing that I am married (or at least confused as to why I’m wearing a zip tie on my ring finger) and assuming Mr. Lexington is the father. “He’s not. Unfortunately, he had to work.”

  “Oh, okay. Well, we can always catch him up on another visit. Or we can all have a Zoom call. I have a lot of patients whose husbands are professional athletes.”

  Yep, there’s that fancy shit again. If this was any other facility, they’d be like, “You can catch him up, or we’ll fill him in if we have time at your next appointment.” I highly doubt they do Zoom calls around their patients’ work schedules.

  “That’s very kind of you, but I can fill him in when I get home.”

  I should just tell him. This man is going to see my vagina more than any other man has. We should have an honest and upfront relationship. But I can’t. I don’t want to acknowledge what I did yet. I just want to love this baby, keep it healthy, and raise it the best I can. I don’t need a man or a lot of money to do that. But still, I don’t want to reveal that Cooper married a woman who is pregnant with a child that is not his. I won’t do that to him, and in turn, I don’t have to acknowledge what I did.

  “Okay, if that’s what you—” A knock at the door stops Dr. Considerate. “Come in.”

  Swear to God, if I wasn’t sitting down, I would have fainted like those women did back in the 1920s.

  “Mr. Lexington. I’m glad to see you were able to make it.”

  I eye my husband who’s in athletic pants and a t-shirt. His ass was working out. Did he seriously stop and come here… to do what? Wave hi?

  “I thought you had to work?” I say with clenched teeth and tight lips.

  “I got out early. I thought your appointment was later.”

  He is so fucking lying, but my heart does this little fist bump like he saved the day. And I’ll admit just having someone with me during this stressful appointment does help. I wish it were Pops or Brenda, but I’ll take my husband, the hero, as an alternative.

  Cooper closes the door behind him and sits in the chair next to me, stretching his legs out in front.

  “You really didn’t have to come.”

  I don’t care if Dr. Montg
omery hears me. He’ll just think I worry about Cooper’s career over, you know, a little thing like this not being his baby.

  “I know.”

  Clutching my purse, the wrench heavy in my lap, I glare at my husband. “Well—”

  “Now that we’re all here, let’s get started.”

  Cooper

  Getting started, by Dr. Montgomery’s definition, meant hundreds of questions that turned McKinley’s face a shade of red and made her look as if she suddenly had a fever. She waved her hand panicked-stricken and turned to me, mouthing she was sorry several times.

  Honestly, I’m fine. More than fine, actually. After grabbing a couple of hours of sleep, I’m feeling better—or was—until her worried texts started coming through, forming an anxious knot in my stomach I couldn’t get rid of.

  Ever since our dance at the senior center, I’ve been a little off.

  I’m quite sure it’s McKinley’s fault, throwing me off my routine and invading my life. But it wasn’t until we danced that I realized how much I’d royally fucked up.

  This marriage of ours was rushed, without any thought about how it would affect either of us in the long run. I was too focused on the short-term issues. Pops and I needed help, and so did Mac. It just made sense to enter into this deal.

  But then, holding her in my arms, watching as the center’s activities’ director kept watching her… suddenly, my problems seemed to double in size. I now know what jealousy feels like, and I wasn’t expecting such a rush of feelings for someone I barely knew.

  Someone who loves my Pops and went through a lot of effort finding him something to do with his downtime.

  Someone who smiles and laughs like each day is a new day, and the world didn’t take a massive shit on her for no reason.

  Someone who doesn’t kiss my ass, but rather prefers threatening to kick it on a daily basis.

  Someone who refuses to ask for help, though we all can agree she needs it more often than not.

  Someone who wore my unbuttoned jersey to bed, where it fell to the tops of her thighs, and sent me to bed with a painful boner that took hours of looking at game footage to lose.