I’m actually starting to wonder if the only reason you give one night is because you already know that your performance won’t be good enough to warrant another...

Having a subpar dick isn’t the end of the world.

—Alyssa.

I shook my head and typed a response.

Subject: Re: Performance Quality.

Dear Alyssa,

Unfortunately, I am not in the middle of fucking another conquest. Instead I’m busy typing a response to your latest ridiculous email.

This is indeed day thirty of your appropriately named, “Operation: Still No Pussy,” but since I’ve fucked you over the phone and made you cum, it hasn’t been a complete failure...

I do in fact enjoy sex—my cock has an insatiable appetite for it, but I’ve told you countless times that I don’t do relationships. Ever.

I refuse to even address your last paragraph, as I’ve never received a single complaint about my “performance” and my cock is far from being subpar.

You are quite correct in your closing statement though: Having a subpar dick really isn’t the end of the world.

Having an un-fucked pussy is.

—Thoreau.

My phone rang immediately.

“Seriously?” Alyssa blurted out when I answered. “Does your message really say what I think it says?”

“Have you suddenly forgotten how to read?”

“You are ridiculous!” She laughed. “What happened to your date tonight?”

“It was another fucking liar...”

“Aww. Poor Thoreau. I was really hoping the thirtieth day would be the charm.”

I rolled my eyes and made another drink. “Is living vicariously through my sex life your newfound hobby?”

“Of course not.” Her light laughter drifted over the line, and I could hear the sound of papers shuffling in the background. “I’ve been meaning to ask you: Where are you from?”

“What do you mean, where am I from?”

“Exactly what I asked,” she said. “You can’t be from the South. There’s no drawl or even a hint of an accent in your voice.”

I hesitated. “I’m from New York City.”

“New York?” Her voice rose an octave. “Why would you ever leave there to come to Durham?”

“It’s personal.”

“I can’t imagine ever wanting to leave New York. It seems so perfect. And there’s just something about the lights and the lives of people who stay there, how they all must have these huge dreams and...”

I tuned her out and tossed back my shot. Her poetical waxing about that desolate place needed to be put to a stop. Fast.

“And wouldn’t the law firms in New York be far more alluring than the ones here?” She was still talking. “Like, one of my favorite—”

“What’s the name of that ballet you’re auditioning for this year?” I cut her off.

“Swan Lake.” She always dropped the subject if I said anything about ballet. “Why?”

“Just wondering. When is the audition?”

“A few months from now. I’m trying as hard as I can to balance my classes—” She cleared her throat. “I mean, I’m trying really hard to balance my case loads with my practice time.”

“Why don’t you just ask your boss if you can work weekends in exchange for a couple weekdays off?”

“I’m pretty sure that won’t work.”

“Of course it would work,” I said. “There’s a lawyer at my firm who works Saturdays through Wednesdays so he can pursue music. If the firm you work for is worth a damn, they’ll be flexible with you.”

“Yeah, um, I guess I’ll have to look into that...”

Silence.

“What firm do you work for?” I asked.

“I can’t tell you that.”

“What’s one of the partners’ names?”

“I can’t tell you that either.”

“But you can tell me how deep you want my cock to be buried inside of you later tonight?”

She sucked in a short breath, a sexy sound that drove me insane the more I heard it.

“How much longer do you think I’m going to put up with just talking to you on the phone, Alyssa?”

“For as long as I want you to.” Her voice sounded more confident now.

“You think I’m going to talk to you for another month without being able to fuck you? Without being able to see you in person?”

“I think you’ll talk to me for several months without fucking me. As a matter of fact, I think you’ll talk to me for years without fucking me because I’m your friend, and friends—”

“If I haven’t fucked you within the next month or two, we won’t be friends anymore.”

“You want to bet?”

“I don’t have to.” I hung up and grabbed my laptop, ready to give Date-Match another try. The second I clicked the prettiest woman on the page, an email from Alyssa popped onto my screen.

Subject: Trust Me.

You and I will still be friends a few months from now, and you’ll be completely okay with not seeing my face.

Watch.

—Alyssa.

Subject: Re: Trust Me.

You and I will be fucking a few months from now, and the only reason I’ll be okay with not seeing your face is because you’ll be riding my cock as I bend your ass over a table.

Watch.

—Thoreau.

Testimony (n.):

Oral evidence given under oath by a witness in answer to questions posed by attorneys at trial or at a deposition.

Andrew

“Miss Everhart, you can take the floor and question Mr. Hamilton now,” Mr. Greenwood said from across the courtroom.

It was the last day of the month, which meant that we were finally getting use out of the million dollar courtroom that sat on the top floor of GBH. There was no need for this room, but since the firm had more money than it knew what to do with, the space was being used for the interns’ mock cases.

Today’s “trial” was about some idiot who defrauded his own company’s employees—leaving them without insurance and health care, and unfortunately, I was playing the accused.

Standing up from the defense table, Aubrey grabbed her notebook and took the floor. She and I hadn’t spoken since I kicked her out of my condo two weeks ago, but from what I could tell, she seemed unfazed.

She’d been smiling quite often, being extremely nice, and each time she delivered my coffee she did it with a smirk and an, “I really hope you enjoy this coffee, Mr. Hamilton.”

I’d been stopping at the coffee shop up the street ever since...

“Mr. Hamilton,” she said, smoothing her tight blue dress, “is it true that you previously cheated on your wife?”

“I’ve never cheated.”

“Stick to the character, Andrew.” Mr. Bach whispered from the judge’s seat.

I rolled my eyes. “Yes. There was a time when I cheated on my wife.”

“Why?”

“Objection!” One of the interns shouted. “Your Honor, do we really need to know the specifics about my client’s love life? This mock trial is about his involvement in a conspiracy.”