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He was dumb, hung, and hot enough to get away with it
My Dumb Hot Cuban Sex God
Hide Your Husbands, Part 5
I carefully finished the last turn into the narrow parking space. Tomorrow was a street cleaning day, and I had to circle several blocks to find a place on the crowded curbs. A few lone cars awaited their ticketing on the other side of the street, one more hallowed Chicago tradition.
It was well worth the effort. Karen’s lawyer was now demanding that I turn over the silver SUV that was the only real asset in our dissolving marriage. Nice try, asshole. I’d learned the hard way that possession is eleven tenths of the law in divorce.
“I am not your first ex wife,” Karen had pleaded with me over email. She got that one right: Piper was smarter, faster, and meaner than Karen could ever hope to be. And I learned to divorce-fight from Piper. If Karen wanted the car, she could go right ahead and hunt it down.
As a bonus, it was a block away from my date for the evening.
