The Divorce Diet

by K. S. Adkins

  “Yeah,” I replied, kissing her lips. “My wife is going to be famous.”

  The times that doing what’s right, knowing it’s wrong, hurt the most.

  Two years ago, I found myself in an impossible situation of my own making.

  One where I truly believed divorce was the best thing for her.

  The only thing.

  I was wrong.

  And the pain I inflicted on her stains my very fucking soul.

  The same soul her handprint left its mark on.

  My Pharis. She was kind. Tenderhearted to a fault. You could see the jock in her, the need to compete. But it was her ability to see the good in people, in life, that made her a force to be reckoned with at work and in matters of the heart.

  Because of my sins, I watched her bright eyes dim a little more each day we stayed together.

  She knew I was keeping secrets but didn’t push. When I yelled at her, she stood strong even though I saw her breaking. I was no longer the man she fell in love with, and we both knew it.

  Coming home late and causing her unnecessary worry because I needed her to hurt.

  Withholding touch and affection because I knew it would hurt.

  Sleeping on the couch, ordering myself takeout instead of cooking for us.

  All this finally led to packing my shit and moving in with a buddy to hopefully give her peace.

  She was my heaven.

  I put her through hell.

  A hell I hadn’t left. So coated in lies and soot that most days I struggled to breathe.

  Days where I literally went crazy without her.

  So, I followed her to work, did daily drive-bys at the house she was renting, recorded every segment she appeared on and there have been many nights I slept outside her window.

  Honestly, there wasn’t much I wasn’t willing to do to be near her.

  Shit, I was a cop.

  Who was going to stop me?

  My original plan was to keep the status quo, giving her time to work shit out in her head while I worked shit out in mine. Yet, weeks turned into months and then it was a year...

  Only I hadn’t worked anything out and truthfully, I wasn’t sure she had either.

  I had been thinking of how to approach her when my buddy Aaron told me he found her on a dating site.

  I did not handle it well.

  Cue in a drunken rage with my head beating the shit out of the wall and my friends restraining me until I passed out. Did they care that I may have been concussed? No.

  They just wanted me to let her be.

  But I can’t do that.

  Because my wife hadn’t wanted a divorce, but I had given her no choice.

  I told myself letting her go was the only way.

  And we both paid for my mistake.

  We were still paying for it.

  So I made my own profile, guaranteeing we’d be a match.

  And believe me, I was well aware that she didn’t make that profile on her own. It had Connie written all over it. No way would Pharis ever post a photo of herself in a skin-tight dress looking hot as fuck for the male population to see. It’s not how she saw herself, she wasn’t about that kind of attention. And I knew it was Connie’s doing because I have the same photo only I’m in it too.

  She cropped me out.

  While the fact that the profile was only a few days old gave me a sense of relief, I couldn’t afford for her to meet someone else. A woman like Pharis wouldn’t stay single long if she was serious about dating.

  God, I hoped she wasn’t serious about dating...

  And after nearly shooting someone for a parking spot, fucking finally, here we were.

  It took two long years, but I could finally breathe again.

  With the woman who owned my soul seated across from me my heart beat hard against my chest.

  To say she wore emotions like a badge was a fair assessment and right now, she was incredibly...embarrassed.

  Using every ounce of bravado I could muster I repeat once more, “I’m John McClane, your date.”

  With tears in her eyes, she asked, “Why, after everything, would you do this to me now?”

  “Phar –”

  “Do you have any idea how difficult it was to show up? So what? You came to make fun of me? What do you get out of this?”

  “A date with my wife,” I argued the obvious.

  “I’m not your wife anymore,” she replied clenching her fists in anger.

  Before I could say another word the server joined us to say, “Your drink, miss.”

  Glaring at me and then her glass, she yelled, “Fuck the drink, and fuck you, Eddie!”

  In her fury she pushed from her seat, flipped me off, and stormed out.

  Glancing at the room, I shrugged, tossed some money on the table, and headed outside to track her sassy ass down. Lucky for me, she was at the corner pacing in a circle when I caught up to her.

  “Fuck, you’re wearing a dress, Pharis. A red dress.”

  “Had I known you’d be here, I’d have tucked a pistol in my Spanx.”

  “In your what?”

  “You’re a cop. Surely you know what a pistol is.”

  God, how I missed this woman and her mouth. “Where’s your car?”

  “Go away, fuck hamper.”

  Even pissed off, she was still the most beautiful woman in the world. Especially when she was really mad and couldn’t use swear words properly. The dress and heels were just icing on the cake. My wife rocked anything she put on, but she killed it when she dressed up. And the beauty of it all? She literally had no idea how stunning she was. And even if she did, she wouldn’t care.

  The only opinion she had ever cared about was mine.

  “Where is your car, Pharis?”

  “I ordered one!” she snapped adorably. Pharis didn’t rile easily, but once she did, her face turned beet red, her pupils dilated, and she yelled with her hands.

  “Fuck that, I’ll drive you home.”

  “Pass.”

  “I wasn’t asking, superstar.”

  When she tensed my stomach cramped. Meeting my gaze, she warned, “Don’t call me that.”

  It’s what I always called her. Superstar. Because to everyone who knew her around here, which was a lot of fucking people, that’s what she was. A superstar. My superstar. A bad ass female sports interviewer that didn’t just love football, she lived and breathed it. Unlike others in the business she made everyone look good. She didn’t care about personal player drama, she cared about the game. The woman was pure entertainment.

  Athletes loved her, coaches, staff, and the fans.

  But no one loved her more than I did. Do.

  “Stop being so damn difficult,” I growled low. “I just wanted to see you.”

  Glancing down, I noticed she’s balled up her fist, so I reminded her, “You don’t want to hit me, superstar.”

  “You’re right,” she said softly and when I stepped closer just to be near her, inhale her, hopefully hug her, she kneed me straight in the balls.

  And I was on the concrete, cupping said sac, when her car pulled up.

  Stepping over me she warned, “Next time, I’ll stab you.”

  Fuck, she was amazing and yeah, I heard it, next time.

  She knew we weren’t over too.

  With Connie holding one hand and Bridget holding the other, I stood in that courtroom numb as the judge announced my marriage was over.

  I could feel Eddie’s eyes on me and couldn’t bring myself to face him.

  While I had hoped he’d fight for us, saying it was a mistake, that he didn’t want this, that he still loved me, I closed my eyes in pain when he thanked the judge.

  Out. Loud.

  The relief I heard in his voice was my undoing.

  Just like that, I was no longer Mrs. Edward Ellis.

  In front of a room full of strangers, I was officially divorced and heartbroken.

  The love of my life let me go. No, fuck that. He threw me away.
And I couldn’t run fast enough.

  The girls were trying really hard to process the bomb I just dropped, literally, in one screeching breath. If I wasn’t so emotionally crippled at the moment, I would have laughed at the turn my life had taken.

  My blind date was my ex-husband. You couldn’t make that shit up.

  “Eddie was John McClane?” Bridget said, slowly coming to terms to what I just explained. “He sat down and actually said, I’m John McClane, your date?”

  “Yes!” I howled horribly, refusing to admit it was sweet and unexpected. “Who does that?”

  “I think he still loves you, Pharis,” Bridget whispered with hearts in her eyes. Poor thing really did believe in happily ever afters. I blame the Hallmark channel and Moscato.

  “No, no, no,” Connie yelled. “Fuck no! He doesn’t get to do this! That clever bastard!”

  “Too late,” I mumbled, closing my eyes in pain.

  “I wonder if he’s still on the pavement,” Bridget mused.

  “I doubt it,” I said and reached for my wine. “He’s like a giant fucking superhero with brass balls these days.”

  I wasn’t exaggerating either. Eddie had always been a big guy, but since the divorce he went and got himself in serious shape. Jacked even. Probably for all his ‘dates’. Prick.

  “You used to love his balls,” Connie joked, trying to lighten the mood.

  “Yeah...”

  “Listen, Bueller.” Bridget lifted my chin. “If he wants to talk, maybe you should hear him out.”

  As for Bueller, that name had stuck since I was a kid. My name is pronounced Ferris and everyone around me had a field day with it. Not that I blamed them. Because, what a great movie, seriously.

  Until I was twenty I wanted to be Sloane Peterson so bad...

  “Why in the hell would I do that?”

  “Closure,” they said in unison.

  Slamming my drink down, I pointed to Connie’s phone and demanded, “Fix me up on every fucking date you can find.”

  “Uh...,” she scrambled, looking for an exit.

  “Didn’t see that coming,” Bridget whispered.

  “I’m serious! Tap it or whatever it is you do. Just make it happen.”

  “You mean swipe it,” Connie countered.

  “Tapping it comes after swiping it,” Bridget clarified.

  “Smack it up, flip it, rub it down, I don’t care! Get me some dates! Eddie isn’t going to win!”

  “I’m not sure this is the kind of game you want to play, superstar,” Bridget said, biting her lip.

  I ignore my stupid nickname he gave me and say with an evil smile, “Watch me.”

  As it turns out, I was allergic to dating.

  Because the four that followed were b-r-u-t-a-l...

  Let’s take it from the top.

  First there was Kyle.

  Gorgeous, semi-career oriented, addicted to Snapchat and all its wondrous filters.

  “Come here,” he said, pulling my chair over to his. “You’d make a great bunny!”

  “What?”

  “Or you can have flowers, puke out a rainbow. Whatever you want.”

  “I don’t follow...”

  “Oh! How about a white walker from GOT?”

  “Who are you?” I asked, looking around to see if anyone noticed the hot, crazy man sharing a table with me.

  Unfazed, he kept going, and I found none of it amusing or a good use of my time.

  Why? Because I wasn’t twelve.

  So before our food arrived I left.

  Sadly, I don’t think he even knew I was gone.

  Then there was Frederick.

  Decent looking, steady job, three kids by three different women. Never married.

  “Tell me about your kids,” I had asked.

  “Why?”

  “Because they’re your kids? They mean everything to you?”

  His answer to this was a shrug.

  Then his credit card was declined, leaving me to pay for dinner.

  The worst part was he was neither shocked nor embarrassed by it.

  Let’s not forget Philip.

  Cute, built, presently unemployed, lives with his parents, and wanted Lion’s tickets.

  As in, offering to valiantly fuck me for passes for him and three of his ‘boys’.

  “Just need four,” he said far too loud. “No nosebleeds neither, I’m talking field seats.”

  “Anything else?” I asked blandly.

  “You get drink vouchers and shit like that?”

  “Shit like that?”

  “You ain’t tough to look at, Paris.”

  “Thanks, and it’s Pharis.”

  “Whatever,” he waved it off. “You hook me up, I’ll hook you up. Feel me?”

  Cue in excusing myself to use the restroom and not coming back.

  Oh, but the kicker?

  Calder.

  Sexy, tatted, huge, had a beard, large hands, and smelled like dirty against the wall sex.

  I didn’t care who he worked for, how many kids he had, or even if he’d done time.

  All I knew was that I was attracted to him and he to me.

  This man wasn’t my one or my happily ever after. He was a gorgeous walk of shame I really wanted to use to get my FitBit steps in with.

  He made my nipples hard, my stupid mouth smile, and my hands sweat.

  Feelings I had thought forever lost to me.

  Feelings only one man ever brought out in me.

  I took it as a good sign.

  “You do this often?” he asked, tracing the top of my hand with his large rough finger. “Go out with a complete stranger?”

  “No,” I said truthfully. “I’ve been divorced a while now, and my friends thought it was time.”

  “But do you think it’s time?”

  “Until I met you I would have said no.”

  “You saying yes now, beauty?”

  “Depending on how this goes,” I actually said out loud. “I may say yes later.”

  Leaning in he warned, “Won’t take you easy. Woman like you? She needs it hard, needs it deep, and you been far too long without it. Man like me? Sees a wild beauty like you and is driven to tame her. When we fuck, Pharis, and we will, I’ll ruin you.”

  “Ruin me,” I breathed heavily. “Wow.”

  “And you’ll fucking love it.”

  Speechless and beyond turned on, I was ready to scream for the check when none other than Eddie walked in.

  Oh yes, my ex-husband showed up, in full uniform, stalked over to our table and literally said for all of Detroit to hear, “You really think I'm gonna let you fuck my wife?"

  “Eddie!” I gasped in true outrage. Honestly, it was more about being caught touching another man in front of my ex than anything. I didn’t like the hurt and fury it put on Eddie’s face. However, this was crossing the line, so I argued, “What the actual fuck!”

  “Outside,” he said angrily, and I was so fucking mad, I followed. I wasn’t through the door when he rounded on me to say, “Motherfucker looks like an ex-con, Pharis!”

  “So?”

  “So?” he yells and move into my space. “What the fuck are you thinking?”

  At this, I rolled my eyes. Clearly unfinished, he said, “The fuck are you wearing? Can you even breathe in that thing? Your tits are too visible and your ass...”

  “Watch it,” I threatened.

  “Looks amazing, superstar.”

  “Please leave, Eddie. You have no right or reason to be here.”

  “What happened to you?” he growled, leaning in even more until bare inches separate us. “Who are you?”

  Nose to nose I forced myself not to inhale his musky scent and reminded him, “I’m divorced.”

  Like I had slapped him, he backed away. “I just...”

  Not wanting to hear it I turned away. “I need to apologize to Calder.”

  “His name is Calder.” Eddie actually snorted.

  Looking over my shoulder, I tossed ou
t, “And thanks to you, odds are good I won’t be screaming it.” I let the door shut behind me. Yes, I apologized to my date and yes, I took his number.

  But even so, I knew I’d never use it.

  Needless to say, I haven’t been on a date since.

  What’s worse I couldn’t stop thinking about my ex-husband’s reappearance and what it meant or, why I cared at all.

  I was talked into coming to this dorm party when I would have rather been at a dive bar.

  School had kicked my ass all week, and yet, here I was, watching people do keg stands.

  But then, there was her.

  Surrounded by guys, athletes from what I could tell. God, at least a dozen. All giants. All towered over her, yet, she seemed larger than all of them combined.

  I was intrigued because there was no flirtation on her part. She was so fucking beautiful, so vocal and bubbly, I inched my way over to hear what they were talking about.

  Football.

  These guys were football players and hung on her every word. She knew their stats, their weaknesses, and their strong suits. While the other girls here were dressed like eager sluts, this girl had on ripped jeans, flip flops and an old, oversized, U of M sweatshirt that hung off her creamy shoulder.

  It took an hour to get her attention, but once she saw me I had it.

  Sauntering over, she stuck her hand out introducing herself. “Pharis Hilton.”

  With my heart in my throat, I returned the gesture by saying, “Your future husband.”

  Pharis had always been honest to a fault. Happy or sad, aroused or furious, she’d let you know it.

  The woman was horrible at poker, never skimmed on her taxes, and always tipped well beyond twenty percent.

  And above all else, she had adored the fuck out of me. She could have had her pick of NFL hotshots, corporate douchebags, you name it, but she still chose me.

  Everyone envied us too. I never could figure out what she had seen in me besides my sinful smile and huge dick.

  But she had seen something, (my huge dick I’m convinced helped), and I latched onto my good fortune with no intention of ever letting go.

  For so long it had been the two of us. With no parents close by, no siblings to visit, we were our own dynamic duo. Unless we were working, we were never apart. This was how we liked it.