I've had the idea for a long time. If it don't float your boat, sorry – I haven't taken a risk like this on here yet, so…here I go!
Barbara Jean gazed out the back window, biting her thumbnail. Brock had just left again, and he'd not been home for two minutes. Something was seriously wrong, they hadn't talked, touched, nothing, in so long. What was happening to them? It seemed like cracks just spread and zigzagged like the silence, each a barrier between them that repair seemed to great to think about. But how, where, why…
Who?
There couldn't be another woman…could there? No, no way, she shouldn't even go there…
It wasn't the first time she had considered this. Brock had cheated on a perfectly good woman, why wouldn't he cheat on her? She had to have more trust in him than that, though; if he didn't love her, why would he still be here, married to her? It couldn't just be Henry; he didn't stay with Reba for three kids, why would he stay with her for just one?
She jumped as the door opened and Brock came in again. "Sorry, honey, I forgot my checkbook," he said, picking it up off the counter. "I'll talk to you later, okay?"
"Wait!" She hurried to him and threw her arms around him. Although taken aback he returned the embrace, until…
Barbara Jean pushed away from him, a look of horror on her face. "What is that?"
Surprised, Brock raised his eyebrows. "What is what?"
She shook her head, her lips pursed together, eyes huge. "Reba," she said flatly, pointing to him.
His heart did a painful shoot to his throat. He finally managed, "What are you talking about, what's Reba got to do with anything?"
"I can smell her on you – you dirty, filthy…!" she couldn't find the right words to describe him. She could smell it on his shoulders, the fragrance she smelt whenever she was around Reba. She didn't know what it was called, but she could recognize it a mile away.
"I knew it – I knew there was someone else, but…how could she, she's my best friend!" She babbled to herself desperately, starting to hyperventilate.
"And that's all she is to me, Barbara Jean, I swear!" he begged. "Look, if it makes you feel any better, we'll go see her right now and I'll let you ask her. You'll see, honey, c'mon."
"Oh, you bet we'll see!" Barbara Jean fumed and stormed out the door, Brock hurrying to keep up.
Bursting into the house three doors down, walking in on Reba fixing lunch for herself and Van in her kitchen. They both looked up from opposite sides of the counter, startled at the state their neighbors were in.
"Barbara Jean?" Reba questioned, barely recognizing the blonde through the rage written on her face.
"Reba!" she yelled, leaning over the counter towards her. Reba backed away a little, Van scooted his chair to the left. "Are you sleeping with Brock?"
"I hope so, maybe things won't be so boring around here after all," Van said wistfully.
Reba had to laugh, and glanced, puzzled, at Brock. "What, Barbara Jean, are you nuts?"
"Well, are you?" Barbara Jean questioned.
"No, of course I am not! Sheesh, don't you think I've learned what happens when I sleep with Brock – I get a pregnant teen, a sarcastic teen, and a bad singer! Not to mention a goofy son-in-law and a ditsy neighbor," she added.
Barbara Jean's breathing slowed a little, then she shot, "Then why is he drenched in your scent, hmmm?"
Reba rolled her eyes. "Relax, Barbara Jean. He smells like me because this morning when I put my perfume on, I turned around and he was in my room, asking if I had a pair of his old golf shoes – and he freaked me out, so I decided he should smell gay today." Reba smirked at Brock, who blushed a little before pointing his finger at her.
"But you did have my golf shoes," he pointed out.
"What was left of them. I got so sick of looking at them they became my new favorite stress toys," Reba retorted, then turned back to Barbara Jean. "Are you happy now, there is nothing going on between us."
"Aw, man, fun thins never happen here!" Van commented from the table. "Now can y'all go so Red can finish making my sandwich?" Reba grimaced and handed him the grilled cheese sandwich, and he went to the living room to watch the game on TV. This left Reba, Brock, and Barbara Jean somewhat awkward in the kitchen.
"Well," Barbara Jean blushed a little, trying to smile. "Guess I'll go just…make sure Kyra hasn't shaved Henry's head…later, Reebs….Brock."
As soon as she was gone, Reba, rolling her eyes, turned back to the stove to turn off the burner. Not a second after she had turned she felt hands slide around her waist and turn her around. Next thing she knew, Brock had crashed her into a passionate, wildfire kiss. She returned it, breaking away to smile slyly into his eyes.
"That was close," she whispered.