I was watching the breaking news on television when my wife got home late from work.

“Boyd, you’re never going to believe who hired me to defend them today.”

“David Bridges,” I answered.

“How did you know?”

“You’re on the news,” I pointed at the television on the wall.

She looked at the TV, and there she was. Granted, it was an older picture they must’ve pulled from the firm’s website, but it was out there. She was the latest addition to David Bridges’ team of lawyers.

It didn’t surprise me. She had been one of the best celebrity defense lawyers in the country before I demanded she quit working one-hundred hours a week.

I wasn’t some Cro-Magnon asshole who didn’t want his wife to work. I just wanted to see her more than once a month.

That was two years ago. She was defending a Senator accused of murdering one of his staffers.

I could tell he was guilty as sin, and I was sure she wasn’t convinced of his innocence either. That didn’t stop her from pouring over every piece of evidence for ungodly amounts of time to find the slightest hint of something to use.

She eventually got the bastard off with a hung jury. The DA elected to not retry him, which shocked the nation.

It was on the third day of three consecutive days of sleeping in her office, during that trial, when I served her with divorce papers.

Eventually, she asked what she could do to not lose me. I told her to quit her job.

Even with us in our late thirties, we had more money than we could ever spend. Some of that came from her clients, but I did pretty well as a radio talk show host. I had a syndicated political talk show that was in the top ten across the country, and number one in several markets.

She agreed to cut her hours into a consulting role, and also agreed to finally start our family.

I held our son, Mikey, while she watched the pundits talk about her client and if she could help get him off.

I hated that term—get him off. It sounded too sexual.

I never suspected her of having affairs. She cared about her reputation too much to cheat on me, so she’d never risk a bad news story about her. My problem was she just worked too damn much.

You may have noticed I didn’t say she loved me too much to ever cheat on me. That I didn’t believe. Oh, I was certain she loved me, but she loved her job more than anything.

When she started doing the consulting, she became a darling for the TV talk shows when they needed legal analysis. There were times when she was on TV every day—and, boy, did she love that.

“Are you upset?” She asked when they went to commercials.

“What do you think?” I grunted. “Mikey needs changing.”

I took my son to his room and left her not knowing how to handle me.

Which was good. I loved to keep her on her toes. She was a control freak, and I relished the times I could throw a wrench in her gears.

She chose to follow me, and as I tried to not get peed on, she said, “It won’t be like before. I’m just part of the team. I’m not the lead.”

“Mm, hm,” I shrugged. “There you go, little man. All fresh and dry.”

Mikey laughed as I tickled him, which made me smile.

I blew a raspberry on his chubby tummy, making him giggle more.

“Boyd, it’s only a tax evasion case. They just need me to help select the jury.”

“Of course,” I said as I walked past her back to the family room.

“You’re overreacting,” she argued.

“No, I don’t think so,” I countered back childishly.

“This will be huge for us. The name recognition alone will...”

“Not us!” I snapped after putting Mikey in his playpen.

“What?”

“Not us, Alicia. It’s good for you. I have a feeling this will end us.”

She yelled, “Bullshit!”

I shook my head and grabbed my keys off the credenza.

“Your dinner is in the oven staying warm. I’m going to the lounge.”

David Bridges was the former Governor of our home state. As soon as he announced his candidacy for the next Presidential election, mud was slung at him from every angle.

They eventually indicted him for not claiming millions of dollars he allegedly got from some foreign company for some reason no one can explain, on his tax returns, along with a bunch of election interference charges relating to his last run for Governor.

It would be an interesting trial; I just didn’t want my wife to practice law again.

I lit my Davidoff Churchill in the private room of a nice cigar lounge by my studio. There were a few smokers there, but outside of saying hello, we’d leave each other in peace unless one was invited to join someone.

Even though I was a celebrity, most everyone was used to me popping in there a few times a week. The novelty of “Boyd Baxter, radio personality” being a patron wore off rather quickly.

“Boyd, help yourself to some of my scotch,” a gentleman I recognized but whose name I couldn’t remember called out.

“Thanks,” I waved and poured a healthy glassful from his decanter on the table in front of him.

“I saw the news. I figure you could use a good belt,” he added.

“Yeah, you figured right,” I said, before I offered him an air toast and walked to the most desolate corner of the room.

I took a long puff and exhaled deeply. I briefly wondered if I overreacted, but I concluded I hadn’t.

I filed for a divorce because she worked too much when she had big cases. I only agreed to take her back after the promise to quit.

I didn’t feel bad for making that my condition. She had a decade of success at the highest levels, and I wanted to have kids while we still could.

And then, she took on another big trial without asking my opinion? Yeah, that was a slap in the face I didn’t see coming.

Hell, I might have said yes, but probably not, if she had asked. I still would’ve liked to be included in the decision.

The TV across the room caught my eye.

There was Alicia, with a big smile, on TV again. I saw the painting behind her and knew she was in our living room. I hoped Mikey would start crying.

She ate those hosts up. She manipulated them into believing she answered their questions without coming close to giving them what they wanted. It was masterful.

Then the host, who was a golfing buddy of mine, asked, “Will your husband be re-filing the divorce paperwork?”

“Excuse me?” Alicia demanded, shocked.

“Well, a condition of your husband dropping his divorce proceeding against you was that you don’t take any more trial clients. This seems like it violates your agreement.”

I shot him a text, “I owe you a bottle of Pappy Van Winkle for that ambush.”

“I assure you my husband is fully on-board with my career decisions.”

She was flustered, and I loved it.

“No, he isn’t,” I said out loud, making the guys who knew it was my wife laugh.

Seconds later, my phone rang, “Boyd, it’s Dana Collins from The Times. Can I ask you a few questions and get your reaction to your wife breaking your agreement?”

“Hi, Dana. It’s been too long, we should get together for lunch soon, maybe have you on the show again.”

She said, “I’d like that. How about those questions?”

“No, but I’ll give you a statement.”

“Okay.”

“I was completely blindsided.”

“That’ll probably be the headline of my article. Do you have anything to add? Maybe as background?”

“Look, she hasn’t done anything to dredge up those old issues yet. We are happily in love.”

“Thanks, Boyd. Talk to you soon.”

Dana was a smoking hot up and comer in the news world. I’d had her on my show a few times as a favor to her boss. He and I had an arrangement that was mutually beneficial.

My phone rang again, and I turned it off. I knew I wouldn’t get any peace otherwise. The media vultures were circling. Especially since I was one of their own. Fucking cannibals.

“It’s not going to be like before,” Alicia said when I walked into our bedroom, later that night.

She looked damn good in a floor length black satin nightgown. The slit on its left ended at mid-thigh, and its lace breast cups didn’t hide her pink areola at all. It was not meant for sleeping.

“Doesn’t matter if it is or not,” I said trying to not look at her, “you know the stakes.”

“It’s different now. We have Mikey.”

I laughed.

“If you think the fact that we have a son will stop me from wanting a wife who doesn’t put her career first, you’ve got another thing coming. If you revert back to your old ways, you’re out the door.”

“Baby, we’re taking this too far. I don’t want to fight.”

“Alicia, the time to discuss it was before you took the job. Now we are in the fallout phase.”

“We will be fine, you’ll see. Now come to bed, I want to show you how much I love you.”

I knew when she saw my comments to The Times the next day, she’d be angry. I figured I’d take advantage of having a sexy wife while I still could.

She dropped to her knees before me and slid off my shorts and boxers.

“Looks like you like the nightgown,” she teased as my hard cock bobbed in front of her, millimeters from her lips.

She stuck her tongue out and licked around my head, wet with precum. Her lips then enveloped me, and she sucked just hard enough to let me know she was there.

“Mm,” she moaned, then took me farther into her warm, wet mouth.

“Oh, Alicia, baby.”

She stroked me with both hands as she licked and sucked my top third. It would be all she took into her mouth. She hated blow jobs, but she pretended to enjoy them while they lasted.

“I need you inside of me,” she whispered after pulling off with a pop.

I took off my shirt and stepped out of my pants while she dropped the nightgown to the floor.

We embraced and kissed, then fell onto the bed, where I rose to my knees, lifted her left leg to my shoulder, and pressed my hardness into her wetness.

“Oh, Boyd, yes,” she hissed when I entered her.

The softness of her nylon on my cheek drove me mad as I thrust in and out of her sweet pussy. Her juices pooled between us, and the resulting squishing and sloshing sounds egged us both on to go further, faster, harder.

“Fuck, honey,” she moaned. “Harder, faster. I’m not gonna break tonight.”

I roughly flipped her over and drove back into her depths with no mercy. I gave her the pounding she craved, knowing exactly what she wanted. Sometimes she wanted to be pounded into the mattress, and I had no problem complying with that demand.

“Oh, shit,” she screamed. “Just ... like ... that! Oh, God, yes!”

I couldn’t hold back any longer and just as her legs weakened and she fell forward, I began cumming and stroked myself to completion on her beautiful ass cheeks.

“I wanted that inside me,” she pouted.

“Sorry, baby. You’re the one that fell and left me stuck with my hand.”

“You were fantastic. That was a big one.”

I smiled with pride as I warmed a washcloth, then wiped my mess off of her soft cheeks.

She managed to say she loved me before falling asleep. I wondered how she would feel about me in the morning.

“You son-of-a-bitch!” She screamed when I walked into the kitchen the following morning. “Completely blindsided?”

I cut her off.

“It’s the truth.”

“You didn’t have to tell them that,” she yelled.

I shrugged, “It’s done.”

“This is going to be the story all day, Boyd.”

I laughed, “At least they won’t be talking about your client for a change.”

Her client had been the talk of the news shows for several weeks before and every day since the indictment.

I kissed her cheek and decided to get coffee and breakfast on the way to work to avoid any more of her wrath.

I wondered how long it would take for her to start working sixteen-hour days again.

“We’re not done discussing this,” she shouted to my back.

I knew we weren’t.

I got to my studio, and it was chaos. I had a young college student who answered the phones, a sound engineer, a do-it-all tech, and a producer working with me.

I preferred to do my own research, so I didn’t have a team of people reading the news for me like some hosts had.

“Jesus, Boyd. The phones are blowing up today.”

I handed her a coffee and said, “Turn the ringer off, Missy. Let them go to voicemail and you can weed out the important calls for me to return.”

“Thanks, boss. That’ll help.”

I walked into my office and found my producer waiting for me.

“Having a good morning, Boyd?” Rose asked.

“It’s just peachy, Rosie. What’s on deck for today?”

“It’s hard to avoid the Bridges story. Especially since you’re involved now.”

“I’m not involved, my wife is.”

“Same thing.”

“Get Dana Collins for the show. We’ll talk about it, and I’ll let her lead me into some comments, but let her know it won’t be an interview.”

“Yeah, I read her story this morning. I swear that woman has it out for your wife.”

I laughed.

“Nah, she has a crush on me. I overheard her talking to someone once. I use it to my advantage.”

“Don’t lead the poor girl on, Boyd. I expected this city to chew her up and spit her out a couple of years ago.”

“Hey, never underestimate a farmer’s daughter. She’s as tough as nails.”

“Okay, I’ll call her and set it up.”

“Thanks, Rose. Also, see if Dan Naranja can come on. I loved what he did to my wife on his show last night.”

“It’s good to have friends, isn’t it?”

“You know it.”

“Okay, Boyd. You’re live in five, four, three, two.”

Rose pointed at me, and the on-air sign lit up.

“Good afternoon, radioland. I’m your handsome host Boyd Baxter and joining me in the studio is Dana Collins from The Times. Hello, Dana.”

“Hi, Boyd. I’m happy to be here today. Especially with what’s going on with your wife.”

She smirked at me, and I shook my head. She wore a short skirt and crossed her legs, giving me a nice view of her stocking top. I loved a great pair of legs, especially ones encased in black nylon.

“Yeah, I figured you’d mention that. Yes, my wife agreed to join David Bridges’ legal team as a jury consultant. She doesn’t get involved in representing clients in a courtroom anymore.”

“Jury consultant?” Dana asked. “Is that what she told you?”

I glared at her. She just dangled her shoe off her sexy foot and smiled.

“It seems your wife didn’t tell you the whole truth. According to my sources inside the Bridges camp, she’s the new face of their legal team and will be first chair at the defense table.”

“I don’t really care what unnamed sources say. I never use ‘em,” I said with a shrug.

She laughed.

“That’s because you use stories done by people like me to fill your radio show with content.”

“Whoa!” I said heatedly. “I’m not a journalist, and I never claim to be. I’m just the simple host of a show where I give opinions on the day’s news.”

She smiled and said, “And today’s news is your wife came out of retirement and lied to you.”

“Let’s go to the phones,” I said to stop digging myself deeper. I’d already failed to control the conversation.

God damned legs.

“Line one, go,” I said and tried not to glance at Dana as she crossed her legs the other way.

“I did not lie to you. I’m just a jury consultant,” my wife said defensively through phone line in my speakers.

“Well, if it isn’t my lovely wife, Alicia. Hi, honey. I’m gonna be home on time today. We’re having a pork roast for supper.”

Dana said, “Hello, Mrs. Baxter.”

“You know damned well my last name is Taylor.”

My wife didn’t take my name when we married. She had already built a reputation on hers and kept it for professional reasons.

“Right,” Dana said. “Mrs. Taylor.”

“Anyway,” Alicia said. “Stop making things up. I’m only on the legal team to help select the jury.”

“So, you, say,” Dana answered.

“Okay, ladies. That’s enough. Alicia, I’ll talk to you at home.”

“But...”

“Okay, next caller.”

“Well, that was a God damned nightmare,” I said after the show ended.

“I thought it went great,” Dana said as she slipped her shoes on. She removed them halfway through the show to tease me. Bitch.

“You owe me one,” I grumbled.

She laughed.

“How about I take you to dinner. Forget your pork roast.”

The look in her eyes scared the hell out of me. I knew she liked me, but it was as if I was chum in the water and she was a hungry shark.

“I’ll take a rain check, Dana. See you around.”

I got the hell out of there before I did something incredibly stupid and went to dinner with the stunning red head.

When I got home, I coated the roast with oil, blended my seasonings and rubbed them onto the meat. Thirty minutes later, I slid the pan into the oven.

I fed Mikey his dinner and opened a beer. I couldn’t believe it, but I was struggling with the question of should I believe my wife or Dana’s unnamed source, and it drove me nuts.

A little over three hours later, I had the table set, a wonderful bottle of chardonnay in an ice bucket, and a perfectly done roast resting before I carved it. Alicia wasn’t home but was only half an hour late.

I ate my salad while the clock turned, and she was an hour late. I still hadn’t received a call or text.

I put the roast back into the oven to stay warm and made myself a martini at an hour and a half late. I fought every urge to call her. There was going to be a fight and I had to be the winner.

I turned the oven off at two and a half hours late and went out to dinner.

The text came three minutes after my steak arrived.

“Where are you?”

I put the phone down, sighed, and took another bite of the perfectly charred ribeye. There’s something about a steak cooked at extremely high temperatures that made me a happy man. She wasn’t going to ruin that.

Five minutes later, she texted me again with just a question mark. I scooped up some of the creamed spinach and moaned when the flavors hit my tongue. They nailed it that night.

Another two minutes later, and my phone rang. I sent it to voicemail because it pissed her off when people did that to her. I felt like I was winning the battle she didn’t know we were having. I was mature, wasn’t I?

When my steak was finished, my wine glass was empty, and the last bits of spinach were cleaned off the bottom of the dish, I ignored the third call. The time was nine-thirty.

When I pulled into the garage at home, she was standing in the doorway with her arms folded. I supposed she was upset and tried to look the part with a scowl.

“Where the hell have you been, and why are you ignoring my calls?” she yelled.

I laughed.

“You know the answer to those. Did you even bother pulling the roast out of the oven?”

I walked into the kitchen and saw the roast sitting in the pan on top of the oven.

“You didn’t eat—figures. What did you have at work? Pizza? Chinese?”

“Chinese. Look, it isn’t going to always be like this. I was...”

“I don’t care what you were doing. I care that you knew I was making dinner for us, and you didn’t call me to tell me you were going to be working late.”

“I’m sorry. You know how it gets when...”

She stopped herself.

I answered, “Yeah, I know how it gets. I filed for divorce over it, remember? You always forget you have a husband at home. Except now, you have a child at home too. Did you even notice Mikey isn’t home?”

“I assumed he was with you. Wait? Where is he?”

“Now you notice, huh? You’re a shitty wife when you’re on a case, and it turns out you’re a shitty mother too.”

She slapped me.

I rubbed my cheek and walked out of the kitchen.

“Boyd, wait. I’m sorry.”

I kept walking and went out the front door. She kept calling out for me as I walked across our lawn to my neighbor’s house. She was watching Mikey for me.

He was asleep in the playpen she had in her living room for her child and didn’t stir as I carried him back to my house.

Alicia was quiet as she held out her arms asking for Mikey.

“It’s not fair, you should have told me he was next door. I could’ve spent some time with him when he was awake.”

“Right. It’s not fair. Of course, we do have the little issue of you not telling me when you were going to be home.”

“I was mad at you. You and that slut were rude when I called your show.”

“That’s another thing. Don’t call my show like that. I don’t like surprises and we should always be on the same page. We’re supposed to be husband and wife.”

“She lied, Boyd. I’m not the lead on the case.”

“Time will tell, won’t it? I’m going to bed.”

“Ever hear of James Anderson?” Dana asked me the next afternoon.

She stopped me in the parking garage as I walked to my car after the show. I felt like Deep Throat with Woodward and Bernstein.

“No, should I have?” I answered.

“He’s the best behavior analyst in the country. He’s worked on almost every high-profile jury trial in the last three years.”

“And?”

“And my source tells me David Bridges just hired him to be a jury consultant for him.”

“So?”

“So, what’s your wife needed for then?”

“What are you trying to do here, Dana? Seriously. Are you trying to drive a wedge between me and my wife?”

She shrugged and said, “I’m just asking questions, Boyd. It’s what I do.”

“Then ask someone else and put that in your fucking story.”

I opened my door, got in, and slammed it shut. Which hit my shoulder making me yelp in pain. Real smooth.

She laughed and waved as I drove away. I noticed her shimmering nude stockings in my rear-view mirror.

At six o’clock, I gave Mikey his dinner and made myself a sandwich from the leftover roast, and it was pretty good. Alicia was late again, and once again, I didn’t get a text or a call.

An hour later, she burst in through the garage door.

“I’m sorry. I got tied up and couldn’t call.”

“When did you get tied up?” I asked.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you weren’t physically restrained, right? You were in a meeting with other lawyers, or you were reading some law book. At any point during those scenarios, you could have picked up your phone and sent me a text.”

“Boyd, I said I was sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t cut it this time, Alicia. You should spend time with your son before I put him to bed.”

I walked out of the room and headed toward my basement mancave. I expected her to follow me with little Mikey, but she didn’t. It disappointed me because I was riled up and looking forward to the fight.

At half-time of the Thursday Night Football game, I went to the kitchen to get a bottle of water. In reality, I was doing some recon on my wife.

She was eating ice cream and reading something on her tablet, when she realized I was there and looked up.

“We need to talk about this, Boyd.”

“Nothing to talk about. You went back to work, and you’ve fallen right back into your old issues. Hell, if you’re not lying to me, you’re only supposed to be working on jury selection prep.”

She looked away, and for the first time, didn’t deny she was lying about her level of involvement.

I continued, “Well, that’s it then. I’m not going to play second fiddle to your job again. I’ll update the divorce papers and will refile this week.”

“Damn it, Boyd! We will not be divorcing. I keep telling you this isn’t like before.”

“Right. Two days on the job and you’re two for two with being late and not calling. Seems like déjà vu to me.”

“It’s just the beginning. You’ll see it’ll be different. I have a lot of catching up to do for the case.”

“Catching up on what? You’re supposed to be consulting them on how to pick jurors.”

“You don’t understand, Boyd. A lot goes into it.”

“Yeah? Whatever.”

I turned and walked away. She rushed in front of me and put her hand on my chest.

“I promise, it won’t be like before.”

“Prove it.”

She pulled me into a hug and started sobbing. Like a fool, I decided to give her a chance.

It lasted three days.

It was a lovely Sunday morning, and I was playing peek-a-boo with Mikey when she walked into the room.

“I have to go into the office for a few hours. I’ll be home by noon.”

“What about church and breakfast, like we do every week,” I asked, and she missed the attitude in my voice.

“We’ll go to lunch instead. We can go to that Mexican place we like in the Arboretum.”

“I’ll meet you there at noon,” I said, daring her to be late.

She kissed Mikey, then me, said goodbye and walked out of the room.

I looked at Mikey and said, “Well, kiddo, what are going to do, huh?” He giggled and I went back to our game.

At noon, I sat in the restaurant with Mikey and ordered a quesadilla appetizer and a Sprite. Mikey happily chewed those little puffs that melted in his mouth.

Twelve-thirty came, and the waitress asked, “Any word from your other party or would you like to order?”

“No, just the check please. My little one is getting antsy.”

The restaurant was packed and there were a lot of people waiting. I could tell they wanted me out of there.

She smiled and patted my shoulder, “I understand antsy little ones. I’ve got three of my own.”

She walked away, and my phone rang. I ignored Alicia’s call, so she sent a text that read, “I’m on my way. I’ll be there in a half-hour.”

“Seriously, Mikey?” I groaned. “What am I going to do with her?” Not surprisingly, he didn’t answer.

I typed my response, “I won’t be.”

I shut off my phone, paid the check, and got Mikey loaded up for the walk to the car.

It was time for action. I couldn’t keep letting her lie to me and effectively walk all over me. She was not going to make me out to be the fool I was the first time.

Of course, the difference was Mikey, but I was sure I could get custody of him with her shitty work schedule.

A few minutes later, I walked through my kitchen and dropped my keys on the table. I set Mikey on the floor and like a wind-up car, he took off towards the family room where his toys were. The house phone rang as I followed him, and I ignored it.

He loved being in his playpen, and when he made his way into the family room, he pulled himself up on its netting.

“Well, someone wants to play in their baby jail, huh? Okay, buddy.”

As I set him in, the phone rang again.

“Mommy’s gonna be mad, isn’t she?” I asked. He giggled and grabbed his see and say.

“Mikey, someone a long time ago said, ‘never interfere with your enemy when they are making a mistake.’ Mommy keeps making mistakes.”

All I heard from him was the see and say going, “The cow says, moo.”

“Have fun, buddy,” I said before tickling his side, eliciting a round of laughter. For some reason I thought of Robert Plant shouting, “Does anybody remember laughter?” I made a mental note to listen to some Zepplin later.

I opened a beer, sat on the couch near my son, then turned on my cell phone. I had several voicemails from my wife and deleted them without listening. I was sure she’d be repeating herself when she walked through the door. There were a couple of texts from Dana Collins telling me that we needed to talk ASAP. I ignored those as well, of course.

It took her a half-hour, and I was on my second beer when she walked through the kitchen. I noticed her hair was pulled into a ponytail, which was a change from that morning.

I held up my hand to stop her from the shouting that was clearly headed my way.

“Mikey’s asleep.”

I nodded to the playpen where he was snoring like an angel.

“He should be in his crib.”

I agreed and let her take him to his bedroom. As she did that, I got into my car and headed to the cigar lounge.

Yeah, I know. I was a pussy for running away from the fight, but in my mind, the fight was unnecessary at that point. My marriage was all but over. She chose work over us.

I was reading an article on Bridges with my back to the door when I heard a voice from behind, “You’re not a hard man to find, Boyd.”

“If I was trying to hide, Dana, I wouldn’t be here.”

She walked in front of me to one of the leather chairs on the other side of a small table.

“Have you had this one?” she asked and showed me her choice of cigar. It was a good choice.

“No, but it’s highly rated.”

“Yeah, that’s what Nick said.”

Nick owned the lounge and was always quick with a recommendation. Especially for a beautiful woman. That would explain how she got into the locked private lounge.

Dana borrowed my lighter and caught me when I checked out her legs. Bare for a change, they still looked amazing. She must have recently put on lotion because they were shiny and wet looking.

“You’re too easy, Boyd,” she teased and crossed her legs the other way.