Page 104 of Unhinged

Shaking his hand, Simone giggles, still pretending I don’t exist. “Thank you.”

Getting to the point, Harold asks, “So, you got a boyfriend?”

Removing the empty glasses from her tray, she shakes her head. “Nope.”

I bite my lip to stop smiling as I glance at the liquor bottles on the shelf. Harold asks, “You married?” I’m her plus one, her next of kin, her questionable life decision, her other half, her significant other, and her…spouse.

Hot damn.

All the times we flirted, groped, and kissed have led to this. But maybe more so, the times we irked, teased, and fought each other.

Unable to help it, and despite my anger, I grin until she swings her blonde hair with another giggle. “Nope. Thank God.”

Well, if that isn’t a nipple twister, a nut punch, an atomic wedgie, and cardiac arrest all rolled into one. I glare at Simone, who doesn’t acknowledge my existence from five feet away.

Harold laughs and smacks my arm. “Greg here said you’re hitched.”

Simone finally looks at me, but only for two seconds, before shrugging and rolling her eyes. “To him, right? Hilarious.” They laugh as my forgotten anger returns like it owns the motherfucking place and has mouths to feed.

I practically growl, “Where’d you sleep last night, Simone?”

She licks her lips and ignores my question. Harold says, “Then we should go out sometime.”

I try to keep my cool with a smirk as I lean toward Simone, and before she answers Harold, I say, “I bet you couldn’t handle being married to me, sugar. It’d make you feel things, and you’d bail.” Her eyes widen with anger matching mine, and I taunt, “Prove me fucking wrong.”

Simone and I don’t look away from each other as Harold whines, “Hey, now, Rodwell. I’m the one asking her out.”

From the floor, Candi squeals as Depeche Mode’s I Feel You plays. “It’s our time to shine, girl!” She tears Simone away, but I feel this song in my bones right now, along with my rage. Simone wants to dance? Absolutely.

I leave the bar with Harold bitching about where I’m going. Striding over to Candi and Simone, I grab Simone’s arm and spin her toward me, taking her by surprise. Her blue eyes look up at me and fly across my face before her petulant scowl returns. Probably matching mine. I jerk her closer, and she doesn’t fight me. Instead, her arms go around my neck, and she doubles down by smashing herself against me.

Simone snaps, “I told you, it’s over. I don’t want to dance or keep your damn name.” I send my hands to her lower back but then slide them down to her ass. Pinning her to me, I grind my groin against her. I could never do this to Hadley, but I’m all in with Simone.

Candi watches like a largemouth bass as Simone and I glare at each other. When her mouth twitches into a defiant smirk, I know she’s about to throw down. Simone brings her lips close to mine as we grind. I’m aware that everyone in the bar is watching us, but I don’t give a shit.

I retort, “It’s not going anywhere, sugar, and neither are you.” As I tip my head, maybe to laugh in her face or kiss her fucking senseless, Simone pushes my chest and spins away, but I’m faster and grab her hand and yank her back to me. Yet Simone outmaneuvers me and flips her back to my chest. I feel her tense as I grip her hips to mine. She fits perfectly since she’s taller than Hadley. But this time, Simone polishes my dick with her ass, making me groan. She peers up at me from over her shoulder, arching an indignant blonde eyebrow, challenging me—an irritating family trait of hers.

She argues, “I don’t want your help anymore. I’ve moved on.” I slide my hands upward, over her waist, until I reach the bottom of her bra, and I hold her there. As we move together, her tits brush my hands repeatedly. It must affect her because Simone tries to push my hands but can’t. I hope it’s making her nipples unbearable, like what she’s doing to my dick.

I lean down and run my nose along her cheek before going to her ear. “You still want me, Simone.”

She breaks from my hold, and I again hook her arm, twirling her. She underestimates me on a dance floor. She wriggles in my arms, sliding down my body until her face is at my crotch. I used to do this with Hadley, but she would’ve freaked out and left me on the dance floor by now. Not Simone, who has literally gone there. We had slow-danced at Jake’s, but nothing like this pissed-off foreplay.

Simone looks up at me, licking her lips before she drags her hands up my body as she goes. When we’re eye-to-eye, she taunts, “You’re just a pastime, Mr. Rodwell. Remember?”

I shake my head and return my hands to her ass while hers dig into my hair. I go to her ear and whisper, “Or I’m just another damn frog to kiss.”

Since she wasn’t supposed to know I heard her last night, I’m reluctant to see the look on her face. Simone’s eyes widen at first, but then they darken. “And you’re so fucking dense.” Simone boldly stares me down as I realize neither of us was asleep.

She flips her hair, and my attention goes to her neck, but I force it back to her face when I ask, “Really? Did you kiss Tesco?”

Simone pulls my hair, and I squeeze her ass. “He kissed me.”

“So, he’s your damn prince?” Please say no. I don’t want to choke a cop. But I sure the hell will.

She giggles and drops her hands to my jaw, and I struggle to focus as I hold her against me. “You’re jealous? Our two weeks are history.”

I grit my teeth. “We’re still married, Mrs. Rodwell.”

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