Good Time(42)

“You’re nuts.”

“Says you, wait until you see my student loan debt.”

“Student loan debt obtained before a marriage is not transferrable to the spouse in the event of separation in Nevada.”

“Well, that sucks.” I sigh dramatically. “Do you work at a fancy practice? Do lawyers call it a practice or is that only doctors? Are you the boss? Do you have a good benefits package?” I cross my legs under the sheets and rest my elbows on my knees.

“I have my own firm so yes, I work for myself and yes, I’m the boss. And yes, I offer a comprehensive benefits package to all employees.”

Comprehensive. I try not to roll my eyes. He really didn’t need my health insurance.

“I guess all that legal knowledge will come in handy for annulling me.”

“I think you’re improperly using ‘annulling.’”

“Yeah, like English language rules have ever slowed me down before.” I shrug mulishly. “I’m not paying for half of the annulment, so don’t even think about billing me. It probably took you eight minutes to fill out that paperwork and you’ll bill me for fifteen minutes at some ridiculous rate of two hundred an hour.”

“Seven hundred.”

“What?”

“I bill at seven hundred an hour.”

I stare at him, trying to compute that, but that kind of math-ing is meant for a calculator.

“I have to go, I’ll see you later.”

“I don’t understand. What kind of lawyer who makes that kind of money owns a gentlemen’s club? What kind of a lawyer owns a gentlemen’s club period? Oh! Is it because of your mom? Did she used to work there? Do you have some kind of emotional attachment to the place?”

He bends his neck like I’m possibly asking too many questions for this early in the morning, or ever. He rests a hand on my doorframe, already halfway out the door.

“It’s complicated.” He ruffles a hand through his hair and I wonder if this is a thing he does when he’s thinking about things he doesn’t want to talk about. “It’s more of a hobby thing.”

I nod. Most guys play golf, or join a fantasy football league, but it’s fine. I don’t want to be that wife who rolls in and demands he give up his stripper hobby for me.

“A strip club must make a lot of money.” What in the hell does he need the money for if he’s already making a calculator amount per hour lawyering?

“Good ones do.”

“Is yours a good one?”

“No.” He shakes his head, seeming amused with my question. “I suppose it’s not based on that criteria.”

“It’s okay, I’m not judging you,” I assure him.

“No?”

“I spend a lot of money on my hobbies too.” Fuck, I don’t have any hobbies.

“Such as?” Of course he’d ask.

“I spend somewhere around eight or ten dollars a week on Cheez-Its.”

“Your hobby is eating crackers?”

“I’m also quite crafty. I make dirty Girl Trooper achievement badges for Lydia.” Crap, I really do need a hobby. Maybe I can get Lydia to teach me something useful like sewing or crockpot-ing. “Anyway, good talk. Good luck in court today. Break a leg. Bill some hours.”

He pauses, a smile on his face as he looks me over one last time. Then he taps he doorframe twice with his hand and leaves. I hear the kitchen chair scrape against the tile as he grabs his suit jacket and then the front door opens and closes.

Damn. Vince is a real conundrum. Usually the super hot ones aren’t this complex. I stare at the empty doorway and think about last night. That was fun, staying in and playing a board game. It was even more fun than our drunken night on Fremont Street. The sex was even better than it was the first time too, and the first time was mind-blowing. It’s like every encounter I have with him is better than the last, but I’m a little bit crazy so I’m not sure my feelings can or should be trusted.

I reach over and grab my phone from the nightstand to confirm the time. My alarm won’t be sounding for another hour, but there’s no chance I’m going back to sleep now. I swipe the alarm to off and tap the side of my phone with my fingers, a bundle of nervous energy. I might as well get ready early. I could run an errand on the way to work. Like stopping at WinCo to pick up some groceries. Nothing perishable since it’ll have to sit in my car all day, but I could replenish my Cheez-It supply. I could go to work early and get a head start on my day.

I could review the contents of the envelope that’s sitting on my kitchen counter.

I toss the sheets off and get up. I’ve showered, dressed and applied my make-up in under twenty minutes. Mornings are faster with a bit of adrenaline. I braid my hair on the way to the kitchen to encourage the curls while it air-drys.

The envelope is gone.

I know it was on the countertop last night, I know it was. I cleaned the entire counter, put everything away and wiped down the counter. All that was left was that envelope. I tapped it with my fingers, didn’t I? I held it in my hands, just before Vince wanted to play Scrabble. I check the floor, wondering if it somehow fell. I check the trash and the kitchen table and the dishwasher.

It’s gone.

What the hell does that mean? Vince wanted me to read them or sign them or something, didn’t he? I consider texting him, I do consider it. It’d be the most logical way to proceed, but I like to think outside of the box. Thinking outside of the box is probably what my life coach would tell me to do if I asked her. If she had any idea who I was.