You Got Served
I’m sitting in my office, smelling my fingers and face, because even though I took a shower, I can still smell Holly’s pussy all over me. It reminds me of how my high school girlfriend’s pussy smelled. I wonder if it’s because Holly is so young that it smells like this. I mentally scroll through every chick I’ve ever fucked and realize that only Holly, my high school girlfriend, and my college girlfriend had this specific type of smell. I decide it has to be their youth and commit to the idea that, if Alyna and I fall apart for good, I’ll only fuck girls under twenty-two if I’m able.
I cup the hand that I fingered her with the night before over my mouth and nose and inhale deeply. I catch a faint whiff of Holly’s asshole, and I’m reminded of the shit she took this morning, which smelled so bad I could barely breathe when I went back into the bathroom after her to shave. My desk phone beeps and our receptionist says, “Your wife is in the lobby.”
I say, “Okay,” take one more sniff, and head to the elevator wondering why the fuck Alyna would come to the office but knowing that it’s better to deal with whatever it might be in the lobby than on my floor.
I get out of the elevator and I see Alyna standing there with her sunglasses on. They’re a pair of big Dolce & Gabbana sunglasses that I bought her for her last birthday. I wonder if she just forgot that I got them for her, or if she likes them so much that she’s able to dissociate my involvement with them enough to continue to wear them. She’s also holding an envelope, which I immediately assume contains photographs of Holly and me fucking, taken by some private detective she’s probably hired with our joint bank account.
I say, “Hey.”
She says, “Don’t fucking hey me.”
I look over at our receptionist and say, “Gina, could you give us a second?”
Gina says, “I’m sorry. I can’t really leave my desk. The phones and all.”
I look back at Alyna and say, “Can we go outside?”
Alyna says, “Why? So your receptionist doesn’t find out you’re fucking the intern? I think she has a right to know what kind of a dickhead she works with.”
Gina laughs, not too loud, but she laughs.
I say, “Okay. Fine. What do you want?”
Alyna says, “Just to give you these,” and she hands me the envelope.
I say, “What is this?”
She says, “Don’t play dumb.”
I say, “Photos?”
She says, “Photos? What? No, you retard. It’s fucking divorce papers.”
I say, “What?”
She says, “You didn’t think I was just going to sit by, running into you and your little fucktoy at gas stations, and wait for you to figure out whatever kind of fucking midlife crisis you’re going through, did you?”
I say, “I don’t know. I mean, did you go to a lawyer?”
She says, “Well, yeah. I couldn’t really draft up legal divorce documents on my own, now, could I?”
I say, “Well, I haven’t been to one.”
She says, “Then I suggest you go to one, because I want those signed soon. I’m tired of this shit.” Then she walks out.
I look over at Gina, who’s clearly pretending to be on a phone call that isn’t really happening. I get into the elevator, go back to my desk, and start Googling divorce attorneys.