Page 56 of Passionate Defense

“You sound tired. What’s up?”

“We sent over the discovery on Marcy’s case yesterday and Simons filed a countersuit, also naming me, this morning.”

“So, he saw what you had and pissed himself. And, rather than settling like a rational adult, a countersuit he can’t win is the cornered asshole’s response. Not surprising.”

Naturally. Ethan’s assessment of the situation was spot-on. The mention of Simon’s name littered his usually circumspect speech with colorful adjectives, but otherwise he was calm and coolheaded.

He paused briefly, before asking, “Should we cancel our plans with Ray and Vicky tonight?”

“Oh shoot. I completely forgot the game.”

“We’ll do it another night and have dinner in.”

“No! I said I’d go, and I will.”

“You’re sure?” he asked, and she loved him all the more for it. Forgoing their plans would have been a huge sacrifice because, despite what he’d said, they couldn’t do it another night.

“I’m positive,” she replied, already shutting things down. “But I need to leave now.”

“I’m almost home. Drive safely, baby. I’ll be waiting when you get here.”

***

“GET A MOVE ON, LANIE,” Ethan’s voice boomed up the stairs, carrying all the way to the back of the house where she leaned into the mirror, applying the finishing touches to her makeup. After dropping her lip gloss into her bag, she gave her image one last assessing glance. Her eyes dropped to her chest and she could hardly suppress a laugh.

Ethan waited at the foot of the stairs, watching her as she hurried down them. She ignored his frown as she stretched to give him a quick kiss. “Sorry, honey. I had a hard time deciding what to wear.”

When she tried to move past him, he caught her arm. His gaze fixed on her chest, he declared, “You’re not wearing that.”

“What? Why?” she asked, as if she didn’t know.

“You know why,” he replied tightly. “Go change.”

She pulled out her shirt and looked down at the Yankees logo emblazoned across the front. “You can’t be serious, Ethan. I grew up in Poughkeepsie, it’s only fair—”

She halted her attempt to reason with him when he merely crossed his arms and scowled at her.

“Fine!” She turned, ready to tromp up the stairs as she grumbled, “Jeez. It’s just a baseball game.”

He spun her back around. “No. It’s the playoffs, against the New York Yankees, and I refuse to allow you to walk into Fenway dressed like public enemy number one.”

Her shrug and eye roll were bad enough. Ethan despised both gestures. He saw them as not only flippant and adolescent but disrespectful. She made matters worse by casually tossing out, “Whatever,” which only fueled his irritation.

“Turn and place your hands on the stairs.”

She blinked in surprise. “Over a T-shirt? You’re not serious!”

“Oh, but I am. That T-shirt in Red Sox territory is an affront. I can’t let it, or the attitude go unpunished.”

“Are you honestly going to spank me over a stupid baseball game?”

“Are you honestly going to argue with me when you know you won’t win? If so, we won’t get there before the third inning.” Bending until he was nose to nose with her, his look dead serious, he repeated, “Hands on the stairs.”

She stomped her foot but did as he ordered, grasping the edge of the fourth step. Ethan reached around her, quickly located the button on her jeans, and unzipped them. With a yank, they were around her knees, along with her panties.

“I’ll go change. I didn’t expect for you to go—” She stopped, about to say ape shit, but thought better of it and rephrased. “I didn’t realize you were so passionate about the Sox.”

“We haven’t had a real shot at winning in the past few years. Move your hands down two steps, Lanie. I want that ass high in the air.”

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