Authors: Evie Adams
Reasonable Doubts (2 page)
I know Jacob Hughes.
I know him from his socks to his haircut. I know his over-confidence, his vanity, his need to be the star, the center of attention.
His big-dick swagger and fuck-me eyes.
I know every delicious inch.
He gets his socks from a little shop in Italy that makes special order socks for the rich and stupid, and also for the Pope for the last 300 years. He orders Pope socks just to tell people about them.
He spends $150 on a haircut that you can get for $15 from a barber named 'Butch', but he spends $150 at the gay 'hair artist' named 'Lance'. I know he goes there for the attention, for how Lance tells him how cute he is, and 'what I wouldn't do to you', talk.
I know he needs that validation, even from a gay man.
I know he has his shoes polished by the shine boy outside court for $10, whether they need it or not.
I know he has a new girl every week, sometimes better than that.
I pitied those women with their nights of meaningless animal sex, wrapped up in those delicious arms, and having those beautiful eyes devour you.
Maybe a touch of jealousy, but mostly pity.
I know his ego is unstoppable, and the insecurity behind it must be massive.
I know how when he takes his suit jacket off the hand-tailored shirts, almost see-through sheer, stretch over rocky mountains of muscles on his back and his biceps.
But he rarely takes his jacket off. He loves his clothes too much.
His ties are knitted, made special for him. Every other lawyer wears the uniform : grey suit silk tie in red or dark blue. He wore black suits and red knit ties, to match his cardinal red 'Pope' socks, except when he was in court. Then the Pope socks were black.
The knit ties were a nice touch, but in red they weren't warm and cuddly, not enough anyways.
I know because I've been watching him, in and out of court for the last three weeks. Studying him. Watching him work, being the object of his flirtations.
I know he's hot and he knows it, I understand I probably want to fuck him, and maybe I'm over compensating by finding all his faults, but even then, I'm usually more right than wrong.
I've dated more than one Jacob Hughes and I know how they are. A slick package, like a Christmas present, the wrapping and the bow are so beautiful, the promise, the anticipation, but then you open it and it's an ordinary pair of socks or a sweater that doesn't fit.
He huffs and puffs and it's all missionary and over in three minutes and I go to the bathroom with my vibrator, and think of someone who looks just like him.
I know him.
I've dated half a dozen guys like him before, because I just don't seem to learn my lesson.
He is sex poured into a suit, but I know him too well to make that mistake.
I know him better than he knows himself: all confidence and swagger and charm.
The men on the jury like him, his client loves him. Even the judge and opposing counsel like him. Those were hard won victories for him, but the women on the jury were tougher to win over. He assumed he was irresistible to women and that he automatically had them on his side.
He needs saving, but I know he won't like my help.
I knew he was full of shit. He was a good actor, I'll give him that. But I knew his schedule from his secretary Pam. He had nothing all day. All the books, the meetings, they were all bullshit. Little contrivances of his.
He made sure to really lay it on thick too. Looking busy.
He made sure to be seen by me looking progressively more tired and busy. I saw him with one sleeve rolled up, then with both rolled up. Then the tie slightly askew, then unbuttoned collar, then hair out of place.
He spent his whole day looking tired out, all to push me off his schedule and avoid our meeting.
If he put half as much effort into the case, he would have been all set.
I ignored him as best as I could and did my work, and went to his office just before 5, and he was gone.
That prick!
That's okay, I know where he is.
I know him.
He's predictable.
I reworked my closing all day, and pretended I didn't have time for her. It was good, but still not great. What I needed was to take my mind off the case, then it would come to me. I spent every waking moment for the last three months on this case, I needed a break, I needed a night off.
I needed to get laid.
It had been almost a week, since this case went into overtime, and I hadn’t had the chance to go out. That was what I needed, not some voodoo lady psychic.
I'm better than any cheap psychologist anyways. One of my many talents is sizing people up for juries, I'm the best. And all that stuff about 'Artie' and Falver was just management, motivation, Diane always made things sound worse than they actually are.
Barristers is the usual spot, and the bartender is awesome. There’s some sexual tension between us, but I'm not dumb enough to mess up a good thing.
A bartender with a long pour and who helps get me laid? There's no fucking way I'm screwing that up. In the past I have tried to screw the bartender, and it ruined a bunch of places for me. You don't shit where you eat. But Kate is cool. She's the only woman I've ever truly had a platonic relationship with, it's good for me and she's amazing.
And then I see her. My woman for the night. My distraction. My salvation to get me back on track. It was like the thunder clap, the lightning strike moment you see in movies but never happens in real life. I swear it happened.
The miracle. The moment where everything telescopes down around you.
I can only see her from the back, but her perfume, the smell of gardenias, wafts to my nose before she does. Her hair is long and dark, an inky darkness that shines. She's wearing a black business suit, not normally a sexy look, but she was wrapped up so tight in it, I wanted to peel it off her.
I swear I lost my breath for a moment when she turned. Her mouth is full and luscious, red lipstick, full lips begging to be ravaged. Her eyes are large and round and dark. The kind you want to get lost in. The kind you want looking up at you while she sucks your cock or have them rolling back into her head while you fuck her brains out.
Wait a minute, I know those lips, that ass, that present wrapped too tight.
Goddamn it. She followed me.
I had to squint to make sure it was really her, but that pissed off look on her face was unmistakable. “Are you a stalker or really psychic Laura?”
“I’m pissed off I had a meeting tonight blown off and need a drink instead of scratching his eyes out.”
“Have a drink and tell me all about it.”
“No, Jacob, we need to go over these cases.”
“I have the night off, from work and from you and the voodoo you do.”
“So well? I'm not leaving until we talk about the case.”
“I'm not talking about the case until I have a few drinks. And you know what? You're going to drink with me. I can't have you scowling at me like that. Have a drink, calm down. Relax.”
She looked at me, and for a moment I was afraid of getting my eyes scratched out by her, but that face would be the last thing I ever saw, that angry, hateful, sexy face. “Let me guess, white wine? Maybe a rum and coke?”
“You're good, you size people up like that? Let me guess you can always tell what a woman wants right?” She put down her guard for a second and sat in the seat next to me.
You have no idea. The only thing I need to know is they want me.
“It's a talent I have. Being able to size up people in general. Then give them what they want. Usually we don't even have to speak, I can tell. It's the same with juries.”
“Maybe you need more practice, Jacob, I drink whiskey no coke, no ice.” Fuck, she's funny, she's never even pretended to be funny at work. It’s been so long since a woman actually made me laugh.
Immediate 10 points for being a whiskey drinker. “Maybe I do need more practice, how about you and me practice tonight?”
“'
Tenacious, but over-confident in his abilities.
' I'm not sure I'd like that in the bedroom. Besides, I have an early morning. Don't you?”
“I do, have to finish a closing argument in a big case actually, but I’ll be fine. I need a distraction from it tonight, that’s all.”
“A big closing, do you need a hand?”
“No, I’ll be fine.”
“Sometimes a distraction helps. Sometimes a helping hand helps too. I don’t think I’d be very good company for you tonight, I had a big thing at the end of my day, and it got blown off. I hate inconsiderate assholes who do stuff like that.”
“Want me to beat him up?”
“Thanks for the offer, but not necessary, I hear he's a momma's boy. Wouldn't do any good.”
“Why don't we forget about him. Sounds dull. Let's have a drink,” I met eyes with Kate, and she came right over. Total pro, Kate ignored the mystery psychic woman and looked at me, “What can I get you?” with a warm smile.
“A whiskey, neat for Miss Miller.”
“I'll take a Jameson, thanks,” she told Kate.
“Sure.”
“She a friend of yours?”
“She's my bartender, a sacred relationship in my opinion. And I'm a friendly guy, so sure, everybody is my friend.”
“Let me guess, she helps you with women too? If you had to go take a phone call, she'd come over and tell me how great you are, you rescue puppies or help little old ladies cross the street, or are a fighter pilot in your spare time, something like that right?”
She said it so matter-of-factly I was at a loss for words for the first time in god knows how long. “Not with the way you look at me. She only does that for women who aren't hiding their attraction for me.” This was getting a little unnerving. How could she know all this about me?
That was an attack. Not mean, but definitely a warning shot. I didn't have time to be offended or try to figure out what she was doing, the only thing I could say, “What are you a psychic?” And at that moment, I actually wanted her to answer, I almost thought she might say yes. She gave one of those little smiles, and started to open her mouth, when Corinne, attacked me with a hug that almost took me off my chair.
“Corr, nice to see you.” And she immediately took up the space between me and Laura. Normally I'd be happy to see Corinne, a sweet little blond who frequents the place, and I've already taken her home twice, any more and she'll think it’s a regular thing and I don't want that.
“Corr, won't you meet my colleague, Laura,” Corinne wouldn't even acknowledge her. She was staking her claim to me for the night.
“Corr, I have some work to do first. Why don't we have a drink later?” She whined and protested, but eventually left us.
“You were about to reveal your psychic powers to me?” I asked her.
“I used to be a bartender. You ever suspect she does that so you don't hit on her? That she's not interested and does all of this because she's nice first, but second she doesn't want another guy coming around trying to sleep with the bartender? That's why I did it. Partly because I was nice, but mostly because I wasn't interested.”
“Stop. If we talk about work will you quit shaking my confidence? I’ll need some left tomorrow. Come on, we’ll use the office.” I motioned to Kate if it was okay to use the manager’s office in back.
I had helped them out a few times, and sometimes, I got some work done back there. Kate looked at me, then at Laura, I guess to make sure I didn’t have some other purpose to bring a woman into the office, but she saw the scowl on Laura and nodded okay.
“So no one else sees you with me?”
“I do have a reputation to uphold.”
