“When I represented women who were pissed off and angry, they wanted to get even.”
“So…they were bitter. That’s normal in a divorce.”
Drew looked embarrassed. “They wanted to get even with their husbands with me.”
“You slept with your clients?”
“I’m not proud of it now, but yes. I was recently divorced and angry myself. Angry fucking can do a lot to help you temporarily release that rage.”
“Isn’t having sex with your clients against some lawyer rules or something?”
“Like I said, they weren’t my finest moments.”
I could tell Drew wasn’t just saying he was embarrassed. He really regretted the way he’d acted, and he’d been truthful with me when he could have lied. It wasn’t my place to judge his past. I’d rather judge him for the honesty he was showing me today.
“Angry sex, huh?” I tried to hide my smile.
He gave a slight nod and watched me cautiously.
“Well, I think you’re a womanizing, egotistical, self-centered jerk.”
Drew pulled his head back. “What the fuck? You wanted me to be honest.”
“I didn’t think you would honestly be an asshole.”
He was just about to respond again when I leaned close to him and cracked a sneaky smile. “Did I make you angry?”
“Are you trying to make me angry?”
“I’ve heard angry fucking can do a lot to help you temporarily release that rage.”
Before I knew what was happening, Drew had lifted me into the air and flipped me flat on my back on the couch.
He hovered over me. “Nice. Then I’m glad I piss you off daily. We’ll need a lot of work on our anger issues.”
Drew, New Year’s Eve, Two years ago
Judges hate hearing cases on New Year’s Eve. But I knew what my ex-wife was up to. She thought dragging me into court on our anniversary with some vague emergency motion was going to upset me. Was she really that fucking clueless? Did she think I was sitting home pining for her three months after our divorce was finalized? I’d gotten what I wanted from her out of our divorce: my freedom and liberal shared custody of our son. Whether or not he was my biological child didn’t change the way I felt about him. He was my son. No paternity test was going to tell me otherwise.
The smartest thing Alexa had ever done was not fight me on shared custody. After I offered to pay a hefty monthly child support—even though technically I could have probably paid nothing—she was suddenly amicable to sharing custody. Money was all my ex-wife was ever interested in. Even while I was married to her, I think I knew the truth down deep.
I’d called her to find out what the fuck she was up to half a dozen times, but of course she didn’t answer. The manipulative side of her had reared its ugly head in the days since I’d packed her bags and had them moved to a rental a few blocks away—a rental I still footed the bill for. If it weren’t for Beck, I would have tossed her shit out the window when I changed the locks. But I wanted my son close to me, and he didn’t deserve to live in a tenement Alexa could barely afford.
“New Year’s Eve. What poor schlep are you beating up and leaving miserable to start a new year?” George, the court officer at the entrance to the family court joked as he scanned my ID. He did side work for Roman, covering surveillance stakeouts at night, and we’d become friends over the last year.
“This poor schlep. Ex-wife’s still a bitch.”
He nodded, having heard all about my fucked-up situation over beers with Roman one night. Handing back my ID, he asked, “You going to Roman’s party tonight?”
“Looking forward to it.”
“See you there. Good luck today.”
Alexa and her dirtbag lawyer, Wade Garrison, were already sitting in the courtroom when I walked in. It was difficult not to laugh at her knee-length skirt and neckline that looked like it might choke her. Especially since I had a thousand photos of her out partying on weekends wearing skin-tight skirts that barely covered her ass and displaying enough cleavage to be mistaken for a hooker. They were compliments of Roman after she and I had split up—in case I needed them someday.
My ex-wife kept her face straight ahead, refusing to look at me. If there was one thing I knew about Alexa, it was that she avoided my eyes when she was being over-the-top cuntly.
The court officer called our docket number, and I made sure to go ahead of them, so I could open the gate and force eye contact with Alexa.
“You wearing that to the frat party you’re going to tonight?” I whispered. “Might want to put on a better bra. Your tits are looking saggy. Probably from breastfeeding.”
She glared at me. I smiled wide.
“What do we have here, folks? I read the motion and have no idea why you are standing before me today wasting my precious time,” Judge Hixton said.
“I’d like to know why we’re here, as well,” I added.