The Ex (The Corny Myers Series) Read Online Free

down and there was a Buddha belly where a flat belly lay the night before. I set my outfit aside. Now all I had left to do was worry about Steve’s ex.
    ****
    Steve must’ve sensed my anxiety. He handed me a brown paper sack filled with chocolate Hershey’s Kisses.
    “Corny, have fun today. Remember, the initial selection process is all computer-generated, but prospective jurors are interviewed by both the prosecutor and the defense counsel. They pick and choose based on your answers. Don’t get upset if you don’t get chosen,” Steve said.
    “Do you think that’s going to happen?” I started to panic.
    “No. I’m sure you’ll get chosen. Now, the chocolate is to keep you calm. Don’t eat all of them on the way to the Justice Center. Good luck and I’ll see you tonight.”
    After another tongue dueling, body groping kiss, Steve left for work. I’d never dated a guy who’d buy a case of Hershey’s Kisses and keep them around for me. I bet Celeste didn’t eat chocolate kisses. Her loss.
    ****
    Parking was limited and expensive in downtown Seattle. I was surprised when I found a spot in an underground garage near the Seattle Justice Center. The cost was high, but I considered the price reasonable when I looked out my car window and saw the heavy rain plummet the unlucky Seattleites without umbrellas.
    I grabbed mine, popped two chocolate kisses into my mouth, and walked the short distance to the Justice Center. With a few minutes to spare, I stood under an awning and gave Steve a ring. The phone rang six times before he picked up.
    “Hi, Honey. What’s up?” he asked.
    “I have one quick question. Do the Marshals perform full body cavity searches?”
    He paused, and chuckled. “Oh Corny… don’t bring anything you wouldn’t bring on an airplane and you’ll be fine. I’ve gotta go, babe.”
    “Bye.” I already knew that, but I loved to mess with Steve. No alarms or sirens went off as I cleared security. I proceeded to the jury assembly room, which was located on the twelfth floor. Double glass doors led to a large room with several counters manned by clerks.
    We all shuffled forward in line. When my turn came to check in, the clerk was scary-efficient. She slapped the laminated badge on the counter, pushed the square toward me with her red-lacquered, two-inch-long nails and recited the same spiel I heard her tell all the potential jurors before me.
    “Here you go. You’ll need to wear this Municipal Court Juror’s Identification badge at all times during your jury service. Please return the badge when your service is concluded. Go down the hall and wait in the jury selection room, the last room on the right.”
    I did as I was told; I was scared not to. An attractive woman in her mid-forties with a silver pixie cut and choppy bangs, walked in. She scanned the room and closed the door. She got everyone’s attention with a clap of her hands.
    “I’m the Senior Court Clerk. Please line up single file, starting with the lowest juror number, and ending with the highest.”
    We all lined up like little soldiers, and proceeded to the courtroom. As juror number six, I was positioned in the middle of the row, on the lower bench. A side door opened and the judge walked in and sat behind her bench.
    “Good morning all,” the judge said.
    Next, a robust man around fifty, in a gray pinstriped suit walked in. He sat at the far table, popped open his briefcase and took out a stack of papers. He lined up the stack, used the sides of his hands, and tapped them into a perfect triangle of paper.
    The door opened again and in walked his complete opposite. The woman’s pantsuit was a half size too small. The top three buttons of her lavender satin blouse could bust wide open at any moment.
    Distracted by her appearance, I missed when the defendant shuffled in behind her. His face looked familiar, even though the guy sported several days of unkempt growth. His hair was greasy, slicked back on his forehead and he