Morrison (Caldwell Brothers)

Jamie does want to leave her husband; it’s no secret. He’s not like Monte, though. They just aren’t in love anymore. The trial separation is something I purposely hid from Monte, in the fear that he would cut me off from my friend. Obviously, I misjudged Alex and his ability to keep his mouth shut.

“It also seems as if my wife doesn’t want to continue her duties here.” He turns to me. “I have a meeting with a client. If you want out, be gone before I get back, Hailey.”

My stomach drops to the floor. I pass Marisa over to Jamie and follow as Monte walks to the garage without even looking back at his daughter.

“Are you serious right now?”

“I’ve been serious all day, Hailey.”

“I can leave?”

He smiles maliciously at me. “Of course. Have I held a gun to your head to make you stay? Did I threaten your life to marry me? No, this is a business arrangement, one that is no longer working. You can leave.”

I want to squeal in delight; only, I know better.

“What’s the catch?” My body trembles in anticipation.

“No catch. You owe me, and you will repay me. If you don’t, the price will be too high for your precious heart to take, dear Hailey.” He turns around and steps into me. Toe-to-toe, he looks down at me, and tipping my chin, he adds, “That little girl in there was my gift to you so you could have something of your own, but she can be taken just as easily as she was given. I’ll be in touch.”

I gasp.

“Welcome back, Hard Knocks.” Without another word, he turns and climbs into his car.

Fuck, what have I done?

Chapter Five

The Strip.

As I walk into the Aria, I think about how it gives a guy like me, someone who loves the finer things, an eye-gasm. Love the place. It’s home to the Cirque du Soleil show Viva Elvis. The fucking place is full of cougars with too much damn money and lady wood for Elvis. Add alcohol to that mix, and you could grab some settled ass.

Settled Ass married her high school sweetheart because she was in love. Then she had kids while working full-time. Settled Ass is ass that more than likely has a house, two-point-five kids, and an old man at home with the late-teen kids while she’s taking a “girls’ weekend” because she finally figured out she settled her ass into the stereotypical life every chick is raised to believe she should want.

The fucking fairy tale that hardly ever comes true ends with twenty pounds of junk settled in that ass because her man at home no longer really has to try to tap that ass. That ass is settled. The man at home is fucking up his responsibility to that ass and more than likely is sitting in front of his laptop, playing tug-of-war with Cyclops while watching some young thang.

Settled Ass is the chick at the tables, surrounded by three or four friends who are encouraging her to drink a few too many drinks to loosen herself up so she gains enough liquid courage to come on to a guy like me.

Settled Ass is the woman who raised her kids with love while her husband was hanging with his boys, still enjoying his youth. When he ultimately tires of that lifestyle, she is ready to finally live a little for herself.

Her kids are grown enough to wipe their own asses, blow their own noses, clean up their rooms, and maybe even help out a little around the house. Her husband is lying on the couch, watching UFC as he eats a slice of pizza and drinks a beer before falling asleep. Meanwhile, she is in the tub, making her lady parts trim and tasty, only to find his ass asleep when she is ready to take the slob to bed, hoping she’s gonna get to come tonight.

She not only wants to get fucked, but for it to be worth the cheat. She wants to come, and not just once. She wants to be finger-banged in the elevator, then have her clothes start coming off in the hall before she even makes it to her room. Then she wants to be bent over the bed and fucked so damn hard she explodes multiple times, so that for the next twenty years, while her husband is taking his ten-minute obligatory pump and dump, she will think of “that time in Vegas.”

I am damn sure more than a few women have pictured Caldwell, the only name I ever give them, when their old man was busting a nut way too fucking soon inside the woman he had promised to cherish.

Fuck that. Fuck marriage. Fuck disappointing people you’re supposed to love. The tables are my bitches.

I came here first to win some cash, get my ego stroked, and then move on to the next place. I walk out nine hundred dollars ahead, not a bad start to my evening.