99C only, GET IT!
She spent a few minutes studying her notes and mulling over all the arguments and rebuttals that might arise. The court clerk entered from one of the two doors located behind the judge's bench, perused the room and then ducked back inside the office.
"The judge must be ready to start," Lauren told her father, glancing at her watch. One minute before nine. "It's just like Greg to be late. Never takes a single thing seriously." Dipping her gaze to her notes again, she murmured, "He's probably rescuing some poor, decrepit soul out there somewhere." If there was a poor, decrepit soul within a hundred mile radius of Sterling Greg would find it, that was certain.
A few minutes later, the door at the main entrance to the courtroom swung open and Greg waltzed in. Lauren forced herself not to turn around, keeping her eyes glued to the documents in front of her. But she could see his loose, breezy stride in her mind's eye. And she could easily imagine his attire: battered, steel-toed Wolverines, worn blue jeans and t-shirt. If he'd decided to dress up for the occasion, he might have gone all out and donned a polo shirt.
With her arm firmly twisted behind her back, she'd have admitted the fact that, when they'd first met Greg's blue-collar style had appealed to her. He was different from the men she'd dated—the studious collegians that had made up her social circle while she'd earned her law degree.
Soft, worn denim had the ability to hug a man's rear like no other fabric. And the physical nature of Greg's work tightened his glutes to pinch-tempting firmness. The memory had heat flushing Lauren's face.
She'd grown adept at ignoring her husband altogether. The practice had kept her sane for months now. But to force those inappropriate images from her brain, she lifted her gaze to the empty court clerk's desk and snipped, "It's good that some people finally decided to show up."
"Good morning to you, too, Lauren."