Page 147 of Unhinged

“Good Christ, Simone! This is fairytale-worthy shit!”

I shove her arm but laugh with her when I wish he was my prince.

Candi’s smile vanishes, and I look with her to see a red head coming through the front door. Candi grabs my arm and seethes, “Simone. That’s her.”

“Who?”

“That’s Greg’s girlfriend, date, or whatever.”

Since there aren’t any empty seats at the bar, she sits at one of my tables. Her red hair is a little longer than chin-length, stick straight, her skin is toilet-bowl white, and her nose is obviously plastic. Her lips are plump, and her blue eyes are striking. Kleo. I hate her.

Candi says, “I thought she wasn’t coming back until Saturday.” That means our time together is over earlier. Candi sees my turmoil and says, “I’ll take care of her.”

I shake my head. “I want to meet her.”

“Simone, you have the upper hand. Remember that. You’re his wife.”

“It doesn’t matter. It’s a deal.”

Candi mutters, “We all know it’s not.”

At first, I’m frozen, but then I march with purpose to her table and fake a smile. “Hi, there. Can I get you something?”

Keno’s smile is sweet. “Yes. A hot bartender with a killer smile and a wicked sense of humor. Sound familiar?” Her voice is delicate, like little bells. I hope your tits fall off.

“Milt?” I nod toward the bar. I can’t believe I said that with a straight face. Desperate times…

Her smile drops. “No. Definitely not him.” Yeah. I don’t blame her there. “Greg. Does he work tonight? I wanted to ask him, but then it’d ruin the surprise.”

“Um, yeah.” I check my watch and reluctantly admit, “He should be here soon.” I glance at the bar and notice an empty seat, and I sigh. Turning back to Kilo, I say, “Looks like there’s an empty stool at the bar if you want it.”

“Awesome!” she says with a giggle that would make an angel wither in shame. “Thank you so much.” She’s also polite in stealing my husband. Whore.

“I’ll see if he’s here yet.”

Candi follows me as I go into the kitchen, shuddering. “Simone, calm down.”

“I’m wonderful.” I catch my breath and struggle to swallow.

“My God. Will you just tell him already?”

“He’s not here, or I would tell him about…her.”

She shakes her head, swinging her metallic leaf earrings. “That you’re fucking in love with Greg. I’m serious. He needs to know.”

“I’m not.” But Candi rolls her eyes at my half-assed protest.

The back door opens, blasting in cold air and Greg Rodwell. Snowflakes smatter his black wool coat and his dark hair. And fuck if he isn’t wearing his ripped-knee jeans from softball and that night in my bedroom. Son of a bastard.

He grins, and I melt, but I bite my lip to curb any tears. Greg takes off his coat, and I see his bright-green Fall Out Boy shirt. I think it’s my new favorite color. Since he’s not mine anymore, Greg Rodwell is even hotter.

He never was yours, dumb fuck.

He heads toward the locker room, and his eyes linger on us with a smirk. “Ladies.”

Candi laughs. “Gentleman.” When he goes into the room, she says, “Holy fuck, he only has eyes for you. There’s no way he’s going out with her, Simone.”

“They have tickets to a show. He’s going.”

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