Page 183 of Unleashed

“I want to talk to Rhonda about North Carolina. Somone needs to warn her. I don’t want to be disruptive here.” I can’t admit that I’d rather get plastered and watch RuPaul’s Drag Race. It’s always on. But I’m not mentioning that to Amos since he might fucking join us. Hard pass.

Amos frowns as Brandon recommences his bullshit. Whatever. It’s not like we’re running off to get married. Fuck. I’ll never do that again.

I put my hand on Rhonda’s lower back and guide her out of the room before she changes her mind. That would mean I’d have to stay in the room. Another hard pass. Downstairs, we head straight to the minibar. The air is cooler without Brandon’s hot air on full-blast. I set down my phone and look around. “I need some hard shit like tequila, vodka, moonshine...” I say, rifling through the overhead cabinet. I grab the closest bottle and look over at Rhonda. “Rum. Not a fan, but tonight, Captain Morgan is my spirit guide and treasured savior.”

Rhonda drags her fingers along the counter as she laughs. She picks up a lowball glass and slides it toward me. “Fill ‘er up,” she says, with hiccupped giggles.

I snag her glass and flip it like a baseball bat. Even buzzed, I catch it, slamming the glass down to pour the golden liquid with a loopy smile. “Have you ever been drunk before, Ronnie?” I splash rum onto the granite counter and swipe it before licking it off the side of my hand. No shame here.

“Once or twice.” She frowns as her honey-blonde hair falls over her cheeks. “Drinking alone isn’t as fun, though. It’s nice to have a friend.” Rhonda smiles at me as she leans over, resting her tits on the bar top. It’s crazy, but I can’t take my eyes off them. I’ve only kissed, sucked, and jizzed on Simone’s tits. Their sugary-sweet taste made my dick throb with desperation to fill her with the most vital component of my existence, giving me an existential rush. I loved leaving part of me with Simone, even with the risk of propagating CF. She doesn’t realize how much every inch of my body needs hers. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever felt. She’s right and wrong, heaven and hell to me. I love and hate, live and kill for every goddamn second of it. Until it’s over. But as any skilled court jester, I have the last laugh and a loose screw. If she wants to watch.

I chew on my lip as the deep-rooted ache tunnels further, making it impossible to stop. The torture flames through my chest and into my groin. I bow my head, begging for pain relief or for sweet death. I don’t care what it takes to stop the excruciating agony because this denial spiral has cost me the one motherfucking thing that matters to me.

My hand shakes as I slide the glass back to Rhonda, sloshing more rum. Yeah, I poured too much. I used to be a bartender but never said I slayed it. “Why are you really leaving, Ronnie?”

She sighs and catches the glass, and rum splashes onto her hand. She also licks the side of her hand. So maybe I’m not that weird. “For a change in scenery.”

“There has to be more to it than that.” She can’t clam up on me. Rhonda has to talk, or I’ll blubber in front of her.

Rhonda teeters to the couch. Before sitting, she turns toward me, sipping her rum. She makes a face through the swallows, and her cheeks redden as she lowers her glass. Instead of answering me, she asks, “Why did you argue with Simone today?”

I slosh my drink, swirling the rum into an angry and unpredictable sea. Scowling, I mutter, “Jesus Christ, Ronnie. Right into the hard shit.”

“I’m sorry, but it looks like you need to talk.” She looks around the basement and shrugs. “It appears I’m the only one here.” When I don’t speak, Rhonda sits, slurping at her drink with giggles. “I thought you two had an understanding and were getting along better.”

Images of Simone and Junior fucking hit me, and I stumble over my feet and words. “I don’t... I don’t want to talk...talk about her.”

“You should. It’ll fester,” she says, emphasizing fester like a forest witch cursing trespassers.

Going all in, I gulp down the burning lifesaver, relishing this kind of pain. I pant as I drop the glass with a wobbly clatter. The effect is slow at first but then zooms to my head and knocks the edge off my agony. I grip the counter and bow my head, latching onto any numbness seeping into me. But still feeling the pain cutting me with jagged swipes, I reach for more rum.

When I glance at Rhonda, she sips her drink with wide blue eyes on me. They’re lighter and maybe sadder than I’ve noticed. I shake my head. “Simone and I clash. We hate each other.”

Rhonda swings her head from side to side while drinking. She then covers her mouth with a cough/laugh hybrid. “It’s not hate. Aren’t you still dating Tansy?”

I sigh. “I don’t know what I’m doing with her.”

“Trying to convince yourself you don’t love Simone.”

I grit my teeth and swipe my mouth on the back of my hand. “I’m not doing that, Ronnie. I’m...” I search the room for the right word I want to use. Not finding one, I yank the attention from myself. “What’s going on with you and Brandon? And I swear to Christ, if you tell me you’re fucking him, so help me, I’ll finish this entire bottle of rum.”

Her smile falters. “It’s almost gone, anyway.”

Leaving my glass on the bar, I grab the bottle and go to the couch. I pour more into Rhonda’s glass before sitting beside her and straight-shooting it from the bottle. If only my mom could see me now.

Rhonda sighs. “I told you I was married before.”

I slam the bottle on the cushion between my thighs. “Holy fuck. You were married to him?”

Rhonda giggles and bumps my arm with hers. “No, Greg.” Her smile falls. “I had been dating someone when my father came up with the brilliant idea to marry me off to shore up a lucrative oil contract. Since people treated him like royalty, it was acceptable to promise your daughter’s hand to a stranger.”

“The fuck?”

“I didn’t want to break up with my boyfriend, so my father bought him and his family.”

“I know you’re not joking.”

She shakes her head and glances at me. “My boyfriend didn’t argue, and his parents told him to cut me loose. Even his grandparents struck deals with my father.”

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