Confessions of a Litigation God: A Legal Affairs Full Length Erotic Novel (12 page)

“Well, you’re
not exactly preserving brain cells by watching that crap,” I
tell her drily while I pour syrup over my stack.

She arches an
eyebrow at me, takes a delicate sip of coffee, and then points out,
“Like you’re getting any smarter by watching
Family
Guy
.”

“Touché,”
I concede, giving her a nod of defeat and putting a forkful of
fluffy, battered goodness in my mouth. Damn, she can cook.

Ultimate. Fantasy.
Woman.

We continue eating
companionably, and while it feels a bit weird to me, because this is
the first “morning after” breakfast I’ve had since
Marissa, it’s also… fun?

Yeah, fun.

I help Mac with the
dishes, standing close to her at the sink. I wash, she dries, and our
sides press in against each other. I think about dragging her to the
kitchen floor and then decide against it. She has to be sore. I know
I am, just a bit.

Taking the towel
from her after the last dish is dried, I wipe the moisture from my
hands. “Well, I better get going. I have some things I have to
get done this morning.”

Turning to her, I
suddenly realize that I don’t want to go, but I have to.
Because while Mac is the fucking bomb, and nothing would please me
more than to stay with her all weekend orgasming our brains out, I
have something that is far more important than her.

My son, Gabe.

It’s my
weekend to get him, and I have to pick him up from Marissa’s
around noon. We’re going to hit a Yankee’s game and then
get some pizza… his favorite. Then we’ll chill out with
some DVD movies the rest of the weekend.

Best. Time. Ever.

Hands down, no
competition, no comparison.

If I were stranded
on a desert island and could only have one thing, I’d hate to
wish that life on Gabe, but he’d be the one thing I’d
want with me.

“So,”
Mac says hesitantly as she looks up at me. “What are you doing
this weekend?”

And just like that…
all of those feelings I had been giving in to… signing up for
monogamy, making plans to come back to her house, sleeping in her
bed, eating at her table… those feelings all start turning
gray inside of me.

Because her one
simple question smacks of a desire for something more than sex. I can
hear it in her voice—I can see it in her eyes. She wants to
spend time with me.

Not with my tongue.

Not with my cock.

But with me.

And that takes this
way past a sex-only deal with no strings.

I know my voice is
aloof when I say, “I have plans all weekend, so I’ll see
you in the office on Monday.”

She takes an
embarrassed step back from me, and her face falls. All the hope I saw
in her eyes a moment ago is appropriately smashed and just like that,
I have Mac back on track.

Even if it causes a
pain to shoot through my chest at the thought of hurting her.

Mentally shrugging
my shoulders and shaking off that feeling, I lean over and kiss her
on the forehead before I walk out her door.

Oh, well…
it’s either I get hurt or she gets hurt, and I’m not
putting myself in a position ever again where I’m the one who
suffers in the end.

There is nothing in
the world that will ever compare to the feeling you get when your
child is sleeping in your arms. It touches the deepest part of you as
a human being. It reminds me that I still have the capacity to love.

But to be clear, I
have the capacity, not the desire, because I’m not looking to
love anything or anyone past Gabe. That’s never going to
happen. I did that once and when I did, I went in all the way. I went
into love hard and deep, surrendering to it completely.

But never again…
not for anyone other than my son.

The sad thing is…
I was built to love. I was a fucking natural at it. Fiercely loyal,
endlessly giving. And that’s not cockiness or ego talking. I
was a fucking fantastic husband. I worked hard and provided a good
lifestyle for Marissa. I spent all my free time doting on her, buying
her jewelry, taking her to exotic places. I spent every night giving
her pleasure, sometimes forgoing my own just to give her more. I
listened to her… to her every thought and whim and I validated
them all, even when I thought some of them were silly to me, because
I knew they weren’t silly to her.

Yes, I was a fucking
fantastic husband in every way, except for one.

I failed to realize
that my wife needed something that I couldn’t give her.

Freedom.

I failed to realize
that Marissa didn’t want to be married and didn’t want to
be tied down. She didn’t care if I was loyal, giving, or fucked
her like a rock star. She didn’t want the commitment and only
wanted to be free.

I didn’t
figure out any of this stuff until it was too late. Until she was
taking a little bit of freedom behind my back in the form of fucking
various men.

Does that make me a
bad husband because I failed to see it?

Fuck no. She’s
a lying, cheating bitch spawned straight from the fiery pits of hell
who deceived me.

So it doesn’t
make me a bad husband. It just makes me stupid.

And that will never
happen to Matt Connover again. There is no “fool me twice”
scenario here.

My emotions rage as
I think about Marissa, but then calm when I look down at Gabe
sleeping on top of me. Today was fantastic. Baseball, pizza, and now
movies with my boy.

We’re lying on
the couch as we had been watching
Finding Nemo
, for about the
one-thousandth time. He fell asleep just after the “big butt”
line, which always causes him to giggle hysterically. Butt is a
funny, funny word to a seven-year-old boy for some reason.

I know I should move
him to his bed, but I don’t want to let this feeling go. He’s
lying with his back up against the couch cushions and his head and
torso across my chest. That position provided him the best and most
comfortable view of the TV.

That position
provided me with a close-up view of his cowlick and about one-third
of the TV screen, but I didn’t care. I wasn’t into the
movie really.

Just into holding
Gabe.

Closing my eyes, I
push Marissa out of my mind and concentrate on the feel of my son in
my arms. His hair smells sweet from his bath tonight and his breath
is soft and gentle. My hand rubs his lower back to soothe him deeper
into slumber, and the feel of his tiny heartbeat against mine soothes
me as well.

No, nothing will
ever compare to this… not in this lifetime.

***

I’m awoken by
the sound of
Barracuda
piercing my dreams, which, with a flash
of guilt, I realize I had been dreaming of Mac while my son lay
asleep on top of me.

Leaning over
slightly, I grab my phone and connect.

“What do you
need?” I whisper into the phone so I don’t wake Gabe up.

“I need to
talk to you,” Marissa says. The slurred words are a clear
indication she’s drunk. This happens infrequently but when it
does, it’s always so much fun.

Yes, that is my
sarcastic inner voice.

“I don’t
have time for this,” I growl at her.

“Well, make
the time, or I’m coming over there. I’ll just take Gabe
back home with me,” she threatens me angrily.

Motherfucking,
cock-sucking whore.

Inside thoughts only
around Gabe.

“Just a
minute,” I tell her. “Let me put Gabe to bed, and I’ll
be right back.”

Setting the phone
down, I sit up, clasping Gabe’s head to my chest and supporting
his weight with my other arm. I carry him quickly to his room,
thankful I insisted he put on his pajamas before we started the
movie.

Settling him in his
bed, I pull the covers up and kiss him on the forehead, then quietly
back away. I leave the door open just a crack… I always do so
I can make sure I hear him if he has a bad dream or something. I
stare at him a moment more, watching his sweet and peaceful sleep,
drawing on the calming effect that has on me.

I’m going to
need it to handle Marissa.

With a sigh, I turn
away and walk back into the living room. Picking my phone up, I say,
“I’m back. What do you need to talk about?”

“Anthony and I
broke up,” she says morosely.

“Did he catch
you fucking around on him?” I know that’s wrong…
to say that to the mother of my child, but I absolutely cannot help
myself. I’m still operating on a ton of bitter feelings here.

She hisses at me.
“Of course not. He’s worried about our age difference.”

Sighing, I drag my
fingers through my hair, briskly rubbing back and forth. “Why
is this my concern, Marissa?”

“Because I’m
sad and lonely,” she says softly. “And you are always
there for me.”

Yeah…
that’s where you’re wrong, bitch.

“
Were
,”
I correct her.

“What?”

“You meant to
say ‘you
were
always there’. Not you ‘
are
always there’.”

“I don’t
understand,” she says in confusion.

I’d like to
say it’s the alcohol making her obtuse, but Marissa doesn’t
have the keenest common sense. She is book smart, for sure, but
sometimes simple things go right over her head.

“Never mind,”
I say in exasperation. “I really need to get going. Seriously,
what do you need from me?”

“Don’t
you even miss me in the slightest?” she asks in a whining
voice. “I was your wife, for Christ’s sake. I bore your
son.”

Yes, the only good
thing she ever did for me… she had Gabe. And for that alone, I
give her a bit of a pass. I choose to keep my asshole nature in
moderation.

“I’m
sorry, Marissa,” I say in a passive voice, which is something
she probably hasn’t heard since prior to me finding out she was
a lying, cheating, bitch. “But I don’t miss you. Not in
the slightest.”

“I ruined
everything,” she wails into the phone. “I had it so good,
and I ruined everything.”

Sitting back down on
the couch, I kick my feet up on the coffee table and listen to
Marissa purge. This is the first time that she is putting some blame
on her shoulders. From the moment I confronted her with the fact that
I knew… that I knew everything she had done, she had deflected
and refused to accept any responsibility.

She never
acknowledged that it was clearly more important to drink and party
her ass off while I was away on business trips. She never once
apologized for the men she fucked while drunk and partying her ass
off, not even when I shoved the photos under her nose that the
private investigator I hired had taken. I’ll admit… she
looked slightly sick to her stomach, but in no way remorseful. In
fact, I’d say she looked relieved, and she never fought me on
the divorce.

Now… to hear
her say that she ruined everything? It’s kind of like music to
my ears.

Doesn’t change
that she’s a lying, cheating bitch. Those stripes will never
change. But it’s nice to have some validation, no matter how
minor it is.

“You know what
the problem was?” she asks, sniffling into the phone.

“No,” I
say tiredly but still interested in where this is going.

“You were
never around. You traveled all the time.”

“A couple of
times a month, Marissa. Not all the time,” I correct.

“It was a
couple of times too many,” she snaps, losing some of the morose
slur to her words. “I need attention, and you knew that about
me when you married me.”

True enough. I knew
Marissa was high maintenance, but I didn’t mind. I fucking
loved her the way the tide loves the moon. I would have given her
anything. If she would have asked me to stop traveling, I would have…
and she knows that.

“It was more
than that,” I tell her softly. “You know that, and I know
that.”

She’s quiet
for a moment, either digesting what I’ve said or she passed
out. I’m just about ready to say something when she starts
talking. “I wasn’t ready to get married. I didn’t
want to, but I felt pressured. You were my first, Matty. My first
love, my first sex. I didn’t know what else was out there.”

Her words shred me
from the inside out. They sound small and pitiful, and for the first
time, I don’t feel unquenchable hate toward her. I feel a small
amount of pity actually.

I know our marriage
went south because Marissa was sowing her wild oats. She never got to
do that. She went into a heavy and deep relationship with me her
freshman year of college. We did everything together, and while I
liked to party… I was a couple of years older than her so by
the time she was a sophomore, I was starting law school and had to
buckle down. I got serious about life and dragged Marissa along with
me. Truth be told, she never really got to have the fun college
experience. We married the summer of her graduation. Three years
later, she was a stay-at-home mother.

“I understand,
Marissa,” I tell her quietly. And I really do. But then I pull
forth my reserve of dark bitterness that sits low in my belly and let
it enshroud me. “But you didn’t have to fuck around. You
could have just asked for a divorce first. And that’s why I
don’t miss you in the slightest.”

My last words are
harsh and raw, filled with venom. I actually hear her gasp on the
other line, because I know she thought we were having a nice moment.
But that will never happen, because I will never let go of the
disdain for her that swims in my veins.

Not even the fact
that she is Gabe’s mother will soften me toward her. The most I
will give to her is respectful politeness when we are in front of
Gabe, because I don’t ever want him to know how much I despise
her. That would hurt him, and I’m not going to do that.

But she will never,
ever get another thing from me. She’s taken too much already.