Page 49 of Unhinged

Candi slams her fist on the bar, surprising the duds seated there. “What the hell is your problem, Rodwell?”

Milt places shot glasses on the bar and pours a brown liquid into them. “I think he misses his woman.”

It’s my turn to stare while Candi shouts, “Who’d date you with that sour attitude?”

As Greg ignores us, Milt says, “He’s dating some girly who comes in here to gawk at him.”

Candi repeatedly bangs her hand on the counter, trying to get Greg’s attention. “Oh, yeah? What’s her name?”

Greg’s stiff swallow matches my own, and he glances at me. “Her name is Kleo.” Kleo? Holy hell. Her name sounds like a vibrator or a Beverly Hills madam.

And she’s fucking my…

Oh, my God. I need electroshock therapy.

Candi shakes her head. “Well, she’s failing you somewhere. You’re a major grouch tonight, my friend. Hot damn.”

Greg’s angry gaze veers to the floor for two seconds before he looks back at Candi and laughs. “I have no problems in that department.” He then pointedly looks at me, sending me a loud and clear message. Oh.

Turning away, Greg fills more glasses, and I can’t help but watch him move. He’s not a heavily muscular guy, but damn. I could stare at his body all day. When he turns around, my eyes go to his crotch as he stretches to slide the filled glass along the bar. Thoughts of his dick in my hand or inside his new girlfriend invade my thoughts. How could he suddenly have a girlfriend? He told me that after the abuse, the first woman he slept with was Shasta. He’s lacking in experience but wanted to be with me.

Get it together, dumbass. He had no problem sleeping with Shasta in the first place, and now he’s moved on to a bar slut.

Candi says, “Well, maybe Simone could give your woman pointers on how to handle your balls.” They all laugh, and I gulp air, hiccupping as I watch Greg’s entire facade slip, and I see actual pain, not this overblown anger shit.

However, like an octopus to the face, his angry grin swiftly plasters it, and it’s a sight to fear. He doesn’t look at me but nods in my direction. “That’s easy since she was the team’s batgirl and all. She’s grand slam central.”

Still, I’ve never hurt him on purpose, but the pain he inflicts on me is intentional. Hell, no. I’ve had it.

Temporarily emboldened, I look at Greg, seeing the hate in his eyes, and I smash him. “The new girlfriend has my sympathies because your pitching technique lacked flair, and you often fell…short…embarrassing yourself.”

One customer asks, “And that’s about softball? Damn. I’d hate to hear what she thinks of you in bed.”

Greg rubs his arm, but there's nothing to shove since he’s wearing short sleeves. I notice he does that when he’s upset or anxious. He then inhales an angry breath and turns to another customer at the bar. He always takes a deep breath and holds it before arguing with me. I became an expert in knowing his tells. Maybe too much of one.

Candi smacks my arm. “Hot damn, girl! What did you just do?”

“I don’t know. I’m not friends with him, so it doesn’t matter, anyway.”

Candi asks, “What is his problem with you? Did you turn him down or something?”

I shake my head as the heaviness clouds me again. “Our coach is my brother, and he hates us. So childish.”

Looking from me to the bar and then back at me again, Candi says, “Shit. There has to be more to it.”

“There’s not.”

With my uneasiness around Greg, my T-shirt feels tighter. Turning away from the bar, I pull the front of it, but nothing helps. Candi side-eyes Greg’s direction and then laughs as I yank again. Noticing my issue, Candi rounds the bar, digging beneath it for something. When she returns, she holds up a pair of scissors. Before I realize what she’s doing, she tugs the front of my shirt at the collar and cuts downward to my shock and tits. Grinning, she steps back. “All better.”

As I look down, seeing a massive amount of cleavage, several men in our vicinity cheer and whistle. Candi giggles. “You can thank me when you get big tips and Os.” She then twists me to face the bar. “What do you think, guys?”

Milt shakes his head and busies himself with glasses. As I study his reaction, Candi says, “Close your mouth, Greg. You’re drooling.”

When my attention slides to him, he irritably flips us off while grabbing a glass to refill.

Filled with swift sadness, when Candi leaves the bar, I follow, and we look for anyone needing to order. I desperately scrounge for a smile, even with my tits practically smacking me in the face.

Hearing my name, I see Tanner and a couple of his friends waving me over. Candi pushes me toward them, though not much convincing is necessary. When I reach their table, I smile. “What can I get for you?”

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