“Annulment denied. So now you’re going to ask me for a civil divorce…that’s problem number two. For both parties to obtain a divorce in the state of Nevada, one of them must be a resident. Otherwise, you’ll have to file in your home state. Which, if the records are correct, is California. And that’ll take six months.”
Eleanor sucks in a gasp, adding, “Oh god… wait, he lives here…”
“Yeah, I’m a resident,” I say too quickly, feeling her hand grip my forearm because we’re each hoping the universe is throwing us a life vest, but the judge cuts me off.
“You live in a hotel, Mr. Matthews. That’s not a permanent residence. Unless you have a PO Box or utility bill, I can’t help you.”
“Judge,” Josh presses, “I know you’re aware that Crew plays for the Raiders, so—you have the power to declare him a good-faith citizen.”
The judge fucking chuckles like Josh is missing the point. It’s enough that Josh stops talking as Eleanor and I look at each other.
What the fuck is happening?
My head whips over my shoulder to Josh, the look on my face loosely translating into Are we going down? Because if he’s my fucking flight attendant into the maiden voyage of my divorce, I kind of need to know where we’re at.
And telling by how hard he just swallowed, the answer is we lost an engine and are careening toward the fucking ground.
“Thank god,” Eleanor gasps, smacking my arm to get my attention before I follow to where she’s pointing as she adds, relieved, “He’s a fan.”
Holy shit.
Josh taps her shoulder as all the color in my face drains, trying to get her to shut up, but she doesn’t. Because we see something she doesn’t.
Judge Reynolds is wearing a Raiders jersey. But not just any jersey. It’s a special edition that only the owner gave out to his close friends. I know because I had to sign twenty of them right before the Super Bowl.
The Super Bowl I lost before going on a tirade and telling the owner to suck my dick on ESPN. Now it all makes sense.
Fuck. My. Life.
This is payback for the trade. For fucking the Raiders the way I felt like they’d fucked me.
Eleanor’s voice has my hand lifting to her face to cover the whole thing as I feel myself sweating like I’ve run five miles. I’m having a heart attack. Maybe it’s for the best, just bury me in my failed hopes and goddamn dreams.
“Do you want him to sign something?” she rushes out, swatting my hand away, sounding confused as she adds, “What are you doing?” before she motions for me to stand up. “Get up and let him see you do something footbally.”
“Stop talking,” I breathe out, turning to look at her. “He knows the owner, Eleanor. Reynolds isn’t our judge by accident. Do you remember what I told you last night?”
She swallows, and I know she’s remembering me telling her the whole story. All about how I went off on the owner, how I not only agreed to a trade but was stealing away Nate and TJ too. It takes seconds that feel like minutes before she grips the arms of the chair and slinks down with a guttural “Noooo, this isn’t happening. Tell me this isn’t happening.”
Judge Reynolds props his hands behind his head with a grin on his face like he’s enjoying every moment of our spiral before he speaks.
“To declare Mr. Matthews a citizen of Las Vegas would be a lie, Mr. Maroney. Because in order to do so, there would need to be evidence that he’s planning an indefinite stay.” His eyes are locked on mine. “And from what I hear, that simply isn’t the case, unless the Niners are coming to Vegas. So it’s my order that Mr. and Mrs. Matthews will remain married for no shorter than thirty days. Residing in the city of Las Vegas…without stepping one foot outside its city limits. Giving their commitment due diligence and so therefore obtaining residency before they may come before me again.”
“Fuck,” Josh breathes out as I think it.
That’s when pandemonium ensues.
I’m on my feet, voice thundering, and Eleanor is lobbing insults like hammers as Josh unsuccessfully tries to shut us the fuck up.
“Fuck you, Judge Judy.” … “Thirty days means I miss training camp with the Niners.” … “You can’t just force me to stay here for a month? I have a whole life outside of this fucking city.” … “Thirty days means my fucking deal could go south.” … “This isn’t fair. I have work, friends, and work.” … “You tell that son of a bitch nice try. I’ll make his life hell.” … “How am I supposed to explain this to my family?” … “You can make us stay married for forever. It won’t fucking change—”
Before I can finish my threat, a body climbs me like a fucking tree, legs wrapped around my waist, mouth suddenly sealing over mine.
Eleanor’s kissing me. She’s got herself wrapped around me so one of my arms is trapped between her crotch and my body as she clings to me for dear life, mumbling, “Shut your dumb mouth,” in between shoving her tongue inside.
“I’m filing a motion—” Josh rushes out, but I don’t hear the rest of what he says.
Because I’m trying to break free from her, but the intrusion of her fucking tongue in my mouth and the way she keeps lifting her body to stay up…rubbing her pussy on my arm, makes me grab her ass and kiss her back.
Hard.
She pulls back after a minute and looks me dead in the eyes. “I really don’t want to get fucked by him for longer than thirty days. You feel me? Shut your mouth.”
My chest is heaving. I’m not sure if it’s because I’m mad or turned on. Either way, I nod until the sound of the judge’s robe zipping up draws both our eyes.
Reynolds smirks.
“Looks like you lovebirds have some things to work out. If you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to my day, but I expect I’ll see you back here in thirty days with a new level of respect for my friends and for Raider Nation. Good day, Mr. and Mrs. Matthews. And remember, what happens in Vegas is now ordered to stay in Vegas.”
He walks past us as we watch quietly, my hand on her ass, holding her up. Neither of us moves until well after we hear the door shut.
But as soon as it does, Eleanor lets out a heavy breath before smacking my chest with both hands.
“Raider Nation?” She huffs an empty laugh. “I hate football. Put me down.”
My jaw tenses before I drop her, making her squeak before her ass hits the chair. We glare at each other, neither of us giving in first. Because the only thing I truly know is that right now, Eleanor wishes she’d never met me.
And I feel the exact same.
“So, hubby, where do we live?”
“In hell, wifey. In. Fucking. Hell.”
nine
“You can’t exist in hyperbole when you probably can’t even spell it.”
eleanor
Samantha: Quit playing. This better be a joke.
No matter how many ways I’ve explained to Millie and my sister what just happened, they seem incapable of believing me.
Me: 30FUCKINGDAYSSAMANTHA!!!!!!!!!
Mills: Oh shit. Swear you aren’t fucking with us?
Me: NOOOOOOO. I’M LOSING MY SHIT HERE.