Page 3 of Croc Food

Why couldn’t Bitsy be more like Kyle’s wife?

CHAPTER 2

Chad

The feeling that I would never get this promotion built all day. If we looked just at numbers and sales record, I was beating both Kyle and Zach. And I regularly shot 72, while they were stuck at 75 and 76.

Kyle was an idiot. The only advantage he had over me was that Mr. Van Buren liked his wife better.

If. . . if I could negate his one advantage, the job was sure to be mine.

But how to do that? I wrestled with the idea all afternoon, trying to deny the obvious, but I knew exactly what had to happen.

I had to figure out how to get my wife to act like Kyle’s wife.

Just in regards to work, though. Obviously.

Bitsy was the most adorable, sweetest, cutest woman in the world and I had let her do exactly what she wanted with our condo. And in fact after regularly working 12 hour days it was kind of a relief to have someone else do all the free time planning and tell me where to go when. That dynamic worked for us, but I was afraid Mr. Van Buren would think it was a little strange that my wife pretty much ran the show at home.

But a little. . . deception wouldn’t be that bad. Just until the promotion was in the bag.

Nothing else would change. I would make that very clear.

Shoving my lunchbox in my briefcase, I headed home. There had been a lot of long days recently. Mr. Van Buren was in talks to acquire a nearby mini golf course, batting cage, and minor league baseball team.

If you got in right with him, you could really get on the inside track of sports management in Whispering Sycamores.

“Honey?” I called out as I walked in the front of our condo. “Sweetie, we need to talk.”

It wouldn’t be so bad to ask her to take down some of these decorative cobwebs, right? Or the 7-foot-tall Frankenstein out front? Or the glass aquarium full of tarantulas?

“There’s no honey here, just the plumber fixing your sink,” a voice boomed out.

Or, rather, a squeaky cute little voice trying to sound like a big boom.

Even though I was stressed as hell, I couldn’t resist a smile.

Bitsy and I had met at a tailgating party my senior year of college. I had been sitting drinking beer and fucking around with my bros, and she was walking up and down selling homemade apple pies.

I hadn’t been intending to date anyone, let alone fall in love. But when I saw this college girl with her bouncy neon blue pigtails and her big brown eyes and that spray of freckles across her nose, in a milkmaid’s costume selling pies?

I was a goner.

Bitsy was eclectic and did her own thing. She always had, and that had been one of the hottest things about her. How could you simply not give a fuck? I didn’t know, but it was hot as hell.

Shutting the door behind me, I kicked off my wingtips and threw my jacket on the couch.

This was corny as hell and I’d never tell anyone in the world about it, but I loved all the crazy funny role-playing ideas Bitsy had.

“I don’t recall asking for a plumber,” I called out sternly, unbuttoning the top button on my collared shirt and rolling up my sleeves.

I walked into the kitchen and there was my wife, bending over the sink with a work shirt on and low-riding jeans that showed off 50% of her perky little ass.

“I can’t believe you’d come to my house to work with such inappropriate clothing on. I can see your ass crack!”

“What?” Bitsy barked, whirling around with such a huge fake moustache plastered to her face that I had to suppress an amused chortle. “Eyes up here! Not on my ass!”

“I can’t pay for a plumber,” I said, rolling up my sleeves slowly. “I don’t have any extra money. Is there any other way I can pay?”