Confessions of a Litigation God

When we’re done, I drag her back to the bedroom where I return the oral favor she bestowed on me, and then we f**k in the shower just as I’d planned.

Yes, Mac Dawson is indeed, something else.

Chapter 16

Sometimes I wish that we could have do-overs in life. I wish we could go back, with the vision of hindsight, pick those parts in our lives where we chose the wrong path, and then just say, “I want a do-over” and then some celestial clerk above who keeps records, would look in his ledger book, and if you had not asked before, he’d give you one.

Yeah… I think I’d like a do-over.

Most people would think that my do-over would be to not have ever met or married Marissa, but they’d be wrong. Without having met and married that bitch, I’d never have Gabe and he’s worth marrying a hundred Marissa’s and being cheated on a hundred times.

No, my do-over would be that I wish I had never met McKayla Dawson.

Ouch… I know that would hurt her a lot if she knew I was thinking that, but f**k… my life was all kinds of simple before she came into it. I had a vision… a plan… an agenda. My priorities were solid. First, be the best possible dad I could be to Gabe. Second, be the best possible lawyer I could be for my clients. Third, f**k my way through Manhattan and enjoy the single life until the day I died.

Mac has screwed number three up royally.

Now, I’m in this weird place with her. We have the most phenomenally compatible sexual chemistry. We are explosive, incendiary, unquenchable.

I will never find another woman in the sack like her.

Never.

But I broke a major rule the second time I f**ked Mac. I continued to break rules by continuing to f**k her. Now, I can’t walk away from it. She’s in my blood, and frankly… I don’t want to give it up.

/> We are bordering on some dangerous territory. Her feelings are involved, as evidenced by this weekend when she asked me about my own. She wants more… I can tell, and eventually, this will not be enough for her.

And this is why I would like a do-over with her… right now… right this very moment.

Because I think, when that moment comes, and she demands more of me, I’m going to f**king get hurt no matter which way I go. If I give her what she wants, I’ll be opening myself up to further pain because nothing this good lasts forever. If I give her up and walk away, I’ll be hurt when I lose her.

I’m in a f**king no-win situation with her, unless Mac miraculously man’s up and decides to leave her gooey, womanly feelings out of this equation, and that’s not going to happen.

And a do-over isn’t going to happen either because there’s no celestial clerk above keeping track of this shit, so I quit wistfully thinking it could happen one day.

Mac and I have settled into this sort of cool routine this week. At work, we are business as usual. The casual observer would never know that I know every nook and cranny of her body. Licked it too, for that matter. When we work on cases together, we are working.

Sure… we may look at each other and yeah, there are some flames leaping out of our eyes, but I doubt anyone notices that. One time… when I was handing a document to Mac, I intentionally slid my pinky finger over the back of her hand, just because I was dying to touch her. Her eyes got a bit glazed and her breath hitched, and I f**king wanted to gloat over it.

But I didn’t.

At the end of the work day, I’ll casually walk around, saying goodbye to those still working. That includes stopping by Mac’s office where, once I determine no one is around, I walk into her office and ask her what she wants for dinner. She tells me, and then, within an hour, I’m at her apartment with food.

We eat, and then we f**k.

Sometimes for hours.

Then I go home, and we do it all over again the next day.

Now see… if it could stay this way, it would be perfect. Sure, I’m committing to some type of monogamy, but like I said before, that’s not a hardship with Mac. And there are really no feelings involved. We eat, we do simple talk, and we f**k. It’s like the perfect equation.

I knock on Mac’s apartment door and wait for her to answer. I know that what I hold in my hand could give her the wrong impression and threaten to increase the volume of her gooey feelings. But f**k it… I couldn’t help myself.

Where’s she’s concerned, I just can’t help myself.

The door opens, and there she is.

Yes, impossibly looking more beautiful than when I saw her at work an hour and a half ago. The sex will be better tonight too.

Mark my words.

It just always gets better.

Mac smiles at me in welcome, her eyes then dropping to the bag of Chinese food I hold in one hand and the bouquet of fresh flowers I picked up at a vendor down the street. Her jaw then sort of drops open as her gaze travels slowly back up to mine.

In that look, I see so many things that really, really make me want that do-over again. Because by bringing her flowers, I’m quietly telling her that maybe I could offer more to her. Which is so not the message I want to give her. I want her to know that this is just sex. Sex is all it is.

And yet… when I walked by that vendor, and I saw that bouquet of big sunflowers and something the vendor said was Queen Anne’s Lace, I knew Mac had to have them. I said f**k the consequences, f**k the danger I’m putting both of our hearts in, and I bought the motherfuckers.

I start to hand them to Mac when I hear, “Yum! Chinese! And I’m starving. Oh hey, nice flowers. ”

Turning to my left, I see a tall woman with her golden-blonde hair pulled back in a chic chignon, tailored, cream-colored slacks, pale blue silk blouse, and high heel shoes that I’m betting cost more than most people make in a week. She’s wearing a thick, gold choker at her neck and three-carat diamonds in her ears. Based on the money alone dripping off her, I’m guessing this is Mac’s roommate and socialite heiress, Macy Carrington.