Confessions of a Litigation God

by Sawyer Bennett

Page 13

  Images of our  p**n  session from ten minutes ago flash before me. Not just the unbelievably sweet sex, and not just the incredibly powerful orgasms that abounded, but also the way that we laughed while ha**ng s*x when I saved us from falling. If that’s monogamy… okay, yeah… I’ll sign up.

  As long as Mac remembers it’s just sex. If she can abide by that, then sure… I can give up all the other women. Not a problem at all.

  Shaking my head, I get dressed. I’m getting pretty damn good at lying to myself. I can spout all I want that it’s easy to give up other women, but the full truth is… yeah, it’s easy, because the only one I want is Mac.

  Yup.

  Card. Carrying. Member.

  Mac makes me pancakes while I sit at her kitchen table and drink coffee, admiring the French bistro décor, which includes a black and white tiled floor that I bet cost a fortune.

  “So, do you watch TV?” she asks while scooping a pancake out of the pan and pouring more batter.

  “Sure. When I have time. I usually DVR stuff and then I’ll watch a marathon on the weekend. ”

  “Me too,” she says with a laugh. “I’m usually a Law & Order girl, which I know… not very original for an attorney. But lately, I’ve been getting into Criminal Minds. ”

  “Yeah, I love Criminal Minds too. It’s so creepy, thinking that evil like that exists out there. ”

  “Right? It’s why I have to balance shows like that with comedy,” she says with a tinkling laugh, and my stomach rumbles. I’m not sure if it’s because my body loves her laugh or I’m just hungry.

  “What type of comedy do you watch?”

  “Family Guy, mostly. ”

  Now my ears perk up. I knew Mac was sort of like a fantasy woman, but it’s just been confirmed. “That’s my absolute favorite show. ”

  “God, Stewie cracks me up so much,” she says, laughing heartily now and pulling the last pancake out of the pan.

  “No way. Brian’s the funniest,” I tell her, grinning at her back, although she can’t see me.

  Turning from the stove, she brings the stack of pancakes over to the table and sets them down. She turns back and starts gathering plates and utensils, which lets me watch her ass, which is molded under a pair of yoga pants. When she sets everything on the table, having previously stocked us up with butter and syrup, I reach over and grab a few pancakes with my fork, pulling them onto my plate.

  “Well, I’ll also admit… I’m a closet reality show TV junkie. I love Survivor and Big Brother,” she says as she sits down and picks up her cup of coffee, smiling at me over the rim.

  Dropping my fork to my plate where it clatters, I clutch both my hands to my chest in mock pain. “That just kills me. ”

  “What?” she exclaims, starting to laugh at my display. “What’s wrong with reality TV?”

  “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 f**king 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.

  Chapter 10

  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 f**king natural at it. Fiercely loyal, endlessly giving. And that’s not cockiness or ego talking. I was a f**king 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 f**king 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 f**ked 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 f**king 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 f**king 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.