Page 113 of Unhinged

His eyes pop open. “Wow. You’re…bright.”

I check out his navy-blue Henley and black True Religion jeans beneath his coat. Good God, nothing ever looks boring on him. “And you’re not. But you look nice.” I bet you smell orgasmic.

He glances at Amos and mutters, “Thanks.” I swear his cheeks redden.

I put on my coat and make sure everything I need is in my purse. I then kiss Amos’s cheek and wipe off the lipstick. “Don’t wait up, Dad.”

As we go out the door, Amos says, “Take care of her, Greg.”

On the walkway, Greg turns toward him as I hug his arm. “I will, Vaughn.” When he goes forward again, he asks, “He’s so weird.”

I shrug as the winter air nips my cheeks. “He’s Amos. We couldn’t live without him.”

“Speak for yourself,” he says with a laugh.

Going to his truck, Greg opens the passenger door for me, and I giggle like a broken doll. “Thank you, kind sir.”

He rolls his eyes, but I see his grin when he turns his head, which makes me smile more. When Greg gets into the driver’s seat, the air is thick with uneasiness. I’m suddenly nervous about being on a damn date. I rub my legs, unable to sit still. I notice Greg keeps readjusting his hand on the steering wheel, and with the other, he alternated running it through his dark hair or tapping his fingers on his thigh. The music doesn’t matter since it always seems to be a commercial jingle.

I look out the window, but the blur only makes me carsick. As I stare at my pink-fingernailed left hand, noticing the red stone of my mood ring, Greg slides his hand onto my leg and laces our fingers. He asks, “This is allowed, right?”

I glance at him as he watches the road and then looks at me. I laugh and feel somewhat better, seeing his sexy lips grinning. I nod and squeeze his hand. “So allowed.”

His finger glides back and forth over my ring, probably changing the color, so it’s lying about my mood. “I figured we’d eat first if that’s okay with you?”

I nod again as I watch him drive. I’ve never seen a sexier man than Greg. None. He’s unassuming and funny. Everything about him turns me on. What I said at the gym to Morgan comes to mind.

“Fuck you, thundercunt! I’m having all his babies!”

I giggle, but the thought of me getting pregnant and giving birth to his baby is both daunting and perfection.

He’ll fall for Kylo and have ten babies with that shady bitch. Who’s the thundercunt now?

“What’s so funny?”

“Hmm?” I ask, turning from the window.

“You’re laughing. I said nothing.”

I shrug. “Just…laughing.”

“Amos isn’t the only weirdo.” Greg laughs, and it’s my favorite sound. He then clears his throat, and his grin fades as he looks at me. “Your outfit is bright. Kind of like a buttercup flower. My stepmom, Sherry, loves them. They grow in their yard, on the hillside. They’re vivid and stand out.”

I laugh. “I hope that’s a good thing.”

Greg looks at the road and rubs his fingers over mine. “It means you’re pretty like a buttercup.” I love that.

My smile could knock out a window. “Thank you.”

When he pulls into IHOP, I let go of his hand, and I’m excited like it’s Christmas morning. I haven’t been to one in years. My mom used to take Finn and me before he moved to college. Those were the best times. Just my mom, my big brother, and me. They were my best friends forever. Before life got so damn complicated.

I just about run inside because Greg is walking so slow. He’s the one who seems weird tonight, like his mind is elsewhere. He can’t be thinking of Kanga yet. This is my night with him. She gets all of his other nights.

I will cut the whore.

I wait for him on the sidewalk, and when he reaches me, I ask, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” His fast reply is suspect, but I let it go for now. I mean, I’m acting like a lifelong lunatic just released from the looney bin on a technicality. And all because of French toast.

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