I hadn’t worn it in a long time, and I had no idea what possessed me to put it on today. Twisting it off my finger, I looked at it one last time—shaking my head at its uselessness.

For a split second, I considered keeping it, maybe locking it away as a reminder of the man I used to be. But that version of me was pathetic—gullible, and I wanted to forget him as fast as I could.

I crossed the street as the light turned green, and as I stepped onto the sidewalk, I tossed the band where I should’ve thrown it months ago.

Down the drain.

Exculpatory Evidence (n.):

Evidence indicating that a defendant did not commit the crime.

Present Day

Andrew

The hot coffee that was currently seeping through my pants and stinging my skin was the exact reason why I never fucked the same woman twice.

Wincing, I took a deep breath. “Aubrey...”

“You’re fucking married.”

I ignored her comment and leaned back in my chair. “In the interest of your future short-lived and mediocre law career, I’m going to do two huge favors for you: One, I’m going to apologize for fucking you a second time and let you know that it will never happen again. Two, I’m going to pretend like you didn’t just assault me with some goddamn coffee.”

“Don’t.” She threw my coffee mug onto the floor, shattering it to pieces. “I definitely did, and I’m tempted to do it again.”

“Miss Everhart—”

“Fuck you.” She narrowed her eyes at me, adding, “I hope your dick falls off” as she stormed out of my office.

“Jessica!” I stood up and grabbed a roll of paper towels. “Jessica?”

No answer.

I picked up my phone to call her desk, but she suddenly stepped into my office. “Yes, Mr. Hamilton?”

“Call Luxury Dry Cleaning and have them deliver one of my suits to the office. I also need a new cup of coffee, Miss Everhart’s file from HR, and you need to tell Mr. Bach that I’ll be late to that four o’clock meeting today.”

I waited to hear her usual “Right away, sir” or “I’m on it, Mr. Hamilton,” but she said nothing. She was silent—blushing, and her eyes were glued to the crotch of my pants.

“Don’t you need some help cleaning that up?” Her lips curved into a smile. “I have a really thick towel in my desk drawer. It’s very soft...and gentle.”

“Jessica...”

“It is huge, isn’t it?” Her eyes finally met mine. “I really wouldn’t tell a soul. It would be our little secret.”

“My fucking dry cleaning, a new cup of coffee, Miss Everhart’s file, and a message to Mr. Bach about me being late. Now.”

“I really love the way you resist...” She stole another glance of my pants before leaving the room.

I sighed and started to soak up as much of the coffee as I could. I should’ve known that Aubrey was the emotional type, should’ve known that she was unstable and incapable of behaving normally the second I realized she’d made up a fake identity just for LawyerChat.

I regretted ever telling her that I wanted to own her pussy, and I was cursing myself for driving to her apartment yesterday.

Never again...

Just as I was tearing off a new paper towel, a familiar voice cleared the air.

“Why, hello...It’s good to see you again,” she said.

I lifted my head up, hoping that this was a hallucination—that the woman at my door wasn’t really standing there smiling. That she wasn’t stepping forward with her hand outstretched as if she wasn’t the very reason that my life was heartlessly altered six years ago.

“Are you going to shake my hand, Mr. Hamilton?” She raised her eyebrow. “That is the name you’re going by these days, isn’t it?”

I stared at her long and hard—noticing that her once silky black hair was now cut short into a bob. Her light green eyes were still as soft and alluring as I remembered them, but they weren’t having the same effect.

All the memories I’d tried to suppress were suddenly playing right in front of me, and my blood was starting to boil.

“Mr. Hamilton?” she asked again.

I picked up my phone. “Security?”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” She slammed the phone down. “You’re not going to ask why I’m here? Why I came to see you?”

“Doing so would imply that I care.”

“Did you know that when most people get sentenced to prison, they get care packages, money orders, even a phone call on their first day?” She clenched her jaw. “I got divorce papers.”

“I told you I’d write.”

“You told me you’d stay. You told me you forgave me, you said that we could start over when I got out, that you would be right there—”

“You fucking ruined me, Ava.” I glared at her. “Ruined me, and the only reason I said those dumb ass things to you was because my lawyer told me to.”

“So, you don’t love me anymore?”

“I don’t answer rhetorical questions,” I said. “And I’m not a geography expert, but I know damn well that North Carolina is outside of New York and a direct violation of your parole. What do you think will happen when they find out you’re here? Do you think they’ll make you serve out the sentence that you more than fucking deserve?”

She gasped. “You would snitch on me?”

“I would run my car over you.”

She opened her mouth to say something else, but the door opened and the security team walked in.

“Miss?” The lead guard, Paul, cleared his throat. “We’re going to need you to vacate the premises now.”

Ava scowled at me. “Really? You’re really going to let them haul me off like I’m some kind of animal?”

“Once again, rhetorical.” I sat down in my chair, signaling for Paul to get rid of her.

She said something else, but I tuned it out. She didn’t mean shit to me, and I needed to find someone online tonight so I could fuck her random and unwanted appearance out of my mind.

Evasion (n.):

A subtle device to set aside the truth, or escape the punishment of the law.

Aubrey

Andrew was the epitome of what it meant to be an asshole, a shining example of what that word stood for, but no matter how pissed I was, I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him.

In the six months that we’d spoken, he’d never mentioned a wife. And the one time I’d asked if he’d ever done anything more than “One dinner. One night. No repeats.” –he’d said “Once,” and quickly changed the subject.

I’d been replaying that conversation in my mind all night, telling myself to accept that he was a liar, and that I needed to move on.

“Ladies and gentlemen of La Monte Art Gallery...” My ballet instructor spoke into a mic, cutting through my thoughts. “May I have your attention, please?”

I shook my head and looked out into the full audience. Tonight was supposed to be one of the highlights of my dance career. It was an exhibition for the city’s college dancers. All of the leading performers for spring productions were supposed to dance a two minute solo in honor of their school, in celebration of what was to come months later.