The Rules of Dating(86)

“Can I see the questions? Maybe I can help you get it done.”

I met Billie’s eyes. “You sure you want to do that? Some of them are pretty personal, and it might be hard to read.”

She nodded. “I’ll do whatever I can to help because the sooner you pass the interview, the sooner she’s out of our lives.”

I wasn’t sure this was such a good idea, but I got up and got the papers from the drawer in the kitchen anyway. Handing them to Billie, I watched her face closely as she read. The first page was somewhat innocuous. It asked questions like my favorite color, if I slept on my back or stomach, my favorite foods, and how many cups of coffee I drank in the morning. But when she flipped to the next page, I knew those questions would give her pause. And they did. Billie’s eyes grew wide before she began to read out loud.

“Do you come inside your wife or wear a condom? Oh, God, Colby. This is really personal stuff.” She scanned the page a little more. “Your wife’s favorite sexual position?” She shook her head, but kept reading. “Holy shit. Does your wife swallow? Can they really ask things like this? It sounds like the damn officer is planning on getting his rocks off listening to you two answer these questions. How are you supposed to know all this when you only spent one night together years ago?”

I shook my head. “I know. That’s why I haven’t gotten very far.”

Billie was still flipping through the rest of the pages when the alarm I’d set went off. I hit snooze and waited for her to look up at me before taking her hand. “I love that you treat my little girl like she’s your own.”

Her face softened. “You don’t know how badly I wish she were right now, Colby.”

I leaned in and brushed my lips with hers. “I love you, Billie.”

“I love you, too.”

When I pulled back, she sat up taller. “Okay, we need to get this done. Can you grab us a pen, so we can get started?”

“You sure?”

“Very.”

I got a pen from the kitchen, and Billie flipped back to page two. “Here’s what we’re going to do,” she said. “We’re going to answer all of these questions as if they apply to you and me.”

I shook my head vehemently. “No fucking way. I’m not giving that woman or anyone insight into our life.”

“No one is going to know the responses apply to us. And it will be easier for you to remember all the answers if they’re true. Besides, I sort of like that you’ll be thinking of us during the interview, and that Maya is going to unknowingly be pretending to be me.”

I grinned. “That’s a little twisted, but I fucking love it.”

Billie chuckled. “Okay, so let’s run through these. I’ll ask the questions, you answer as if it applies to us, and I’ll write down the answer.”

“Okay, if you say so.”

“Do you come inside your wife or wear a condom?”

“I come inside her because she turns me on so much a condom can’t hold all my jizz. Plus, she trusts me, and she’s on the pill.”

Billie smiled. “I think I’ll skip the jizz part.”

After she finished writing, she looked up again. “What is your wife’s favorite position?”

“Easy. On top.”

“I do like riding you.” She bit her lip. “I was actually thinking maybe next time I can face the other way and you can watch my ass go up and down.”

I closed my eyes and conjured up that visual with a groan. “You’re killing me, woman.”

She giggled. “Next question, does your wife swallow?”

That was it. The thought of Billie on her knees with my cock down her throat was too much to handle. We were going to have to take a quick intermission. I plucked the packet of papers and pen from Billie’s hands and tossed them over my shoulder before scooping her off the couch and into my arms.

“What are you doing?”

“Making sure I get the questions right. How am I supposed to answer your favorite position if you haven’t ridden me reverse cowgirl? You wouldn’t want me to risk failing this test, would you?”

Billie’s smile stretched from ear to ear. “Definitely not.”

***

“Mr. and Mrs. Lennon?”

Two days later, a man with a handlebar mustache called our names. We’d been waiting for the better part of an hour in uncomfortable plastic seats. I stood and held my hand out for Maya to walk first, and we followed the guy down a dimly lit hall toward a conference room with no windows.

“I’m Officer Richard Weber.” He slid a business card across the table to us. “I’m the officer assigned to your immigration application. Can I have some picture ID from both of you, please?”

I dug into my wallet and pulled out my driver’s license, while Maya took out an expired passport from Ecuador. The officer examined them both carefully, looking between the photo IDs and our faces a few times before handing them back and taking his seat.

“You should have received some papers that contain a notice of your rights during this hearing,” he said. “Twice actually. Once in the mail with your appointment letter, and again today from the receptionist when you signed in. Have you received these notices?”

Maya and I looked at each other and nodded. “We have,” she said.