A Cop's Wife

Disclaimer: Everything familiar belongs to Janet Evanovich.

Story Warning: Adult Language, Smut

Summary: Stephanie and Joseph Morelli are married in this AR story. Rangeman is established as an elite security firm, without the skip tracing. When circumstances change, Steph goes out to find a job, becoming employed by Rangeman, whose owner is engaged. Will the sparks fly between Ranger and Steph, or will she stay married to her husband? Mild smut and adult language.

Chapter 1: Stephanie

"See you later, Steph, I love you."

"Me too," I reply as my husband walks out the door of our modest single-family row house in the Chambersburg section of Trenton, NJ.

My name is Stephanie Morelli, and I am a twenty-nine-year-old housewife. Up until two months ago, I was a lingerie buyer for EE Martin, but when the Feds decided to close their shop due to some illegal enterprises by the owners, I lost my job. My husband, Trenton cop Joseph Morelli, was more than happy at my unemployment. He feels that it is a sign that we should actively start to try to get pregnant. I disagree. Every time I think of kids, I break out in hives. After a mature conversation, we decided to give it a few months before discussing our options. On his cop salary, even with overtime, we are having difficulty making ends meet. If we add a child, it will only make things harder.

I have tried to convince Joe to let me get a job, but he is a true inhabitant of the Burg who has drunk the Kool-Aid. You see, here in the Burg, we are stuck back in the 1950s, where the man of the house goes to work, and the wife stays home all day, cleaning the house, ironing the clothes, and cooking meals which are placed on the table at precisely six o'clock every evening. Acceptable outside activities for wives include participating in PTA events, volunteering at church, play dates with the children, an occasional lunch with other wives, working as a nurse, teacher, line worker in one of the many factories around Trenton, or being a secretary. Since I do not want to hold any of those positions, I'm stuck as a slave to our house.

Joe inherited this house from his Aunt Rose about six months before our marriage. We've been married three years, and so far, it's been great. Not having a mortgage to pay has helped our financial situation greatly. Today is Monday. My schedule for today is as follows: vacuum the house to get rid of the three pieces of dust that arrived since yesterday morning, wash the clothes and put them away, clean the windows, and attending cooking lessons at my mother's house. Tomorrow, instead of cleaning the windows, I sweep the porch. I hate my life. However, this is the life that is expected of me, so I better learn to embrace it so that I don't go crazy.

I decide to head to the shower to attempt to tame my crazy curly hair, that is only even more of a rat's nest after our morning session of sex. Joe has a high libido, and we often have sex every morning and each evening. I sometimes have an orgasm. To make up from the times that I don't, I asked Joe to install a shower massager. He thinks I wanted it to help my aching back from all the housework. What he doesn't know won't hurt him.

Once my shower is done, I dress for the day. I take out the vacuum and quickly get rid of all the imaginary dust and hair on the floors. While I'm vacuuming, the laundry is washing. I don't have much, only our sheets and the clothes we wore yesterday. Two loads and I'm done. By the time I'm done with the vacuuming, I can switch the wash. My next job is tackling the windows. I clean the interior part of the windows first. It's on window day that I'm thankful that we have a row house. That means I only have windows in the front and back of the house. The limited number of windows makes the task easier. I finish the inside and switch the laundry again. I fold our clothes, place them in the laundry basket, and hang Joe's uniform. Once I finish the windows, I'll iron his uniform. Then, I clean the outside of the windows. I don't mind hanging out the windows, even when the outside temperature is in the thirties in the middle of February. I'm pretty good at it. When I finish that chore, it's time to take out the sheets. I pull them out of the dryer, bringing the basket up to our bedroom. I make the bed with our clean sheets. I put away all our clean clothes. The time is now eleven-thirty.

I take out the ironing board, quickly pressing Joe's uniform. I place it in the closet in the spare room so it will stay pristine. Now, I'm off to my mother's house for lunch and cooking lessons. I dread cooking lessons. My mom never evokes confidence inside me when I try to cook. She spends more time reiterating all the meals and recipes I ruined. It takes me twice as long to do anything under her watch because I'm always second-guessing myself. She has me prepare dinner at her house, leaving the cooking for my oven. Today is pot roast day.

Since I started my lessons three months ago, I have improved. I no longer get yelled at daily, and I've managed to make a pretty good roast. I didn't even dry it out. I pull up in front of my mother's house in my cute little red Miata. As usual, my mother and grandmother were waiting at the door for me. My grandmother went to live with my parents three years ago after my grandfather went to join the never-ending buffet in the sky. She drives my father nuts, but frankly, I think she does it because she could. She's full of fire and spirit. I have a hard time picturing my mom as being her daughter.

I entered the house, kissing both my mother and grandmother. "So, Stephanie, any success yet?" My mother asked. She's referring to whether I'm pregnant. Since I lost my job, that the first question she asks me whenever she speaks to me, even if we already spoke on the phone.

"No, Mom, not yet," I reply. It's easier letting her think we're unsuccessful then admitting that we're not ready for children yet.

"Well, just keep on trying. You know, you may need to do some different things. Sometimes, men need better motivation to get their swimmers to cooperate."

I mentally put my hands over my ears. I do NOT want to have this conversation with my mother. I decide to change the topic. "Mom, what are we cooking today?"

"You seem to have mastered the pot roast and ham. Today we will work on your sauce so you can make lasagna. Now, I spoke with Angie Morelli to find out how Joseph likes his lasagna. She told me you need to make it with chopped meat, not sausage. Also, you need to use crushed plum tomatoes, not tomato paste, so I need to teach you how to make a different sauce. Finally, you must use fresh pasta. No pre-packaged pasta."

I sigh. I prefer my lasagna with sausage, but it seems that it no longer matters what I like. My job is to make sure that my husband has everything he likes. Arguing with my mother will get me nowhere, so I simply comply.

Four hours later, I have successfully made the lasagna. Now, I only need to bake it. Mom is sending me home because it will take forty-five minutes to bake the lasagna. Once it's finished, I need to let it sit for thirty minutes to make sure it's settled. Cutting it too soon would make it watery and loose. We can't have watery lasagna. I arrive home at four-thirty and promptly preheat the oven. Once it is at the appropriate temperature, I place the lasagna in the oven. I set the timer for forty-five minutes. I prepare a side salad for me and start to make the garlic bread. No rest for the weary. Once the garlic bread is prepped, I set it aside until ten minutes before Joe arrives home, so it's hot and fresh. I set the table in the meantime, make sure to use the good dishes and light two candles. Presentation is important because I never know when I'm going to have a guest. Though at dinner time, no one would be stupid enough to visit another house, unless they are a bachelor or unattached female. According to my mother, the only unattached females over twenty-five are lesbians. She's so ridiculous.

My timer goes off at five-thirty, and I remove the lasagna from the oven. It looks and smells perfect. I place the garlic bread on aluminum foil to put it in the oven. At ten to six, I put the garlic bread in. A few minutes later, I'm taking it out as I hear Joe's car pull into the driveway. I am cutting the garlic bread as Joe strolls into the kitchen.

"It smells good in here. I'm going to change then I'll be back down." He gives me a chaste kiss on the cheek before heading upstairs. Five minutes later, he's back downstairs and seated at the table. I have a beer opened in front of his seat, and I'm cutting the lasagna. I take out the first slice, holding my breath. I didn't need to; it's perfect. I place the slice on Joe's dish then cut a slice for myself. Joe takes a piece of garlic bread, and I sit down with my glass of soda. We dig in. When we are almost finished, we start our after-work conversation.

"How was your day, Joe?" I ask. I don't really care, but it's the appropriate question to ask.

"It was good. I passed the detective's exam. The Chief told me that I was in-line for Capone's spot, now that his transfer to Newark is official. By this time next week, you'll be married to Detective Joseph Morelli. No more uniform for me."

"That's wonderful, Joe. I'm so excited. Will your hours be more consistent?"

"For the most part, but it depends on if I have a case or not."

"That's reasonable. Does your mother know yet?"

"No, I'm not planning on telling her until we go there for dinner on Sunday. You can tell your parents after that."

"Okay. What will you be wearing to work? A suit?"

"No. I'll be wearing dress pants and a button-down shirt with a tie. No jacket is required. However, I'll be undercover starting Monday. I will be put up in a safe house somewhere. I won't be able to contact you for a while. It could be as long as a month."

I felt like I was just punched in the stomach. I don't know if I can handle living in this house by myself for a month with nothing to do. With just me, there won't be much to clean, wash, or iron. I'm already going stir crazy but taking Joe out of the mix, and I'll be certifiable by the week's end.

"Joe, would it be okay if I look for a job? I don't think I'd last without anyone being here. With you being undercover, I won't have much to do around the house. As it is, I finish all the household chores by noon. I could do something part-time."

I see Joe contemplating his answer. I know we will no longer need the money, but he knows how much I hate being bored.

"That's fine. Just make sure your boss understands it's not a long-term position."

"Okay."

By this point, we've finished eating. I wrap up the remaining lasagna, putting it into the refrigerator. I rinse the dishes, placing them in the dishwasher. I turn the dishwasher on after wiping down the counters and the table. I use the Swiffer to "mop" the floor, officially finishing my chores for the day. When I enter the living room to join Joe on the couch, I see him coming down from the bedroom, dressed to go out.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm going to Mooch's. We're throwing a card game together. I'll be home in a few hours. Make sure you're in something sexy when I return."

I resist rolling my eyes, barely, as he walks out the door without a backward glance. I sit on the couch, finding nothing interesting to watch. I decide to go to bed, but before I do, I put on a black negligee and black lace panties. This should satisfy Joe whenever he arrives home. I lay down in bed, falling asleep within minutes.

XXXXXX

"Cupcake, wake up." I hear Joe say as I feel his kisses on my chest. I open my eyes, looking into his chocolate brown ones.

"You're home," I reply.

"Yes, and I'm ready to celebrate." He rubs his hand along my center, checking to see if I'm wet. When he feels that I am, he slips inside me, pumping into me at a fairly quick pace. I can tell that he's drunk, which means I won't have an orgasm. Who knew the Italian Stallion was such a horrible lover? About five minutes after he entered me, he spills his seed into his condom. He pulls out, disposing of the condom, then rolls over to go to sleep. I sigh, waiting for him to close his eyes. Once I'm sure he's sleeping, I sneak into the shower to take care of my arousal. I slip back into bed in a t-shirt and panties, falling asleep immediately.

XXXXXX

A/N: I know this isn't the sequel to "Night," but I had to get this out of my head. I'm working on the sequel as we read. This story is complete and is currently being edited by my fabulous beta, Susan. I will be posting every other day. Please comment. Your comments help fuel the creative process and keep me writing. I am attempting not to add A/N after every chapter, because frankly, I find them annoying when I'm reading stories. Usually, I delete them after the story is complete, but why do double the work? Thank you for your support over the last year and a half. I hope you enjoy this new tale.