Page 187 of Unleashed

She puts her glass on the table and runs her red fingernails through her honey-blonde hair. I watch how the strands fall onto her tits, hidden in her sweatshirt. They aren’t as big as...whomever. I like how she’s wearing black sweats, not dressing up for Brandon’s sorry ass.

Earlier tonight creeps into my mind, making my eyes water and my chest tighten. No amount of alcohol erases my imagination or reality. I’m destined to endure endless suffering, and I have no one to blame but myself. I should’ve never helped Simone again. I did it more for myself than for her because I’m a selfish prick.

“You’re thinking,” Rhonda slurs, shifting on the couch to face me. “Don’t let it ruin you, Greg. You’re a wonderful guy.”

I shake my head. “I’m a shitshow with free admission, worn-out jokes, and a sticky floor. I fucked up royally. You’re being nice, as usual.”

“I’m not. I’ve liked you for years.” As soon as she says that, even drunk, she flinches. “You didn’t know I existed until recently. I blended in with the office furniture.”

“I noticed you, but...” I lick my lips and stare into my clear drink.

“Hadley. I know.”

I mumble, “I don’t love her.”

“Okay.”

“I thought I did, but shit. I guess I did, but not all the way?” I tug my eyebrows together, confused with myself, while Rhonda laughs. I frown at her. “You don’t believe me?”

Rhonda scrunches her nose and forehead. “Does it matter? Your love life is none of my business.”

“But we’re friends. Besties, right?” I snort and pick up a strand of her hair, twirling it around my finger. “I’m sorry I treated you like shit, Ronnie.”

She frowns as her eyes swirl around my face. “You didn’t treat me at all.”

“Ouch,” I say between sips as I unwind her hair and twirl it the other way. “I’m over whatsherface too.”

Rhonda cocks an eyebrow. “Tansy?”

“Yeah. That one too. I’m only friends with her. But she grabs my dick all the time, and I hate that.”

Coughing, Rhonda twists to set her drink on the end table, and I let go of her hair. She then looks at me, with her gaze dropping to my lap. “She did?”

I nod, pick up a different section of strands, and twirl. “She wanted to blow me in my car. No, thanks.”

“Why are you with her, then?”

I shrug. “I don’t know, really. I don’t want to appear to be single.”

“Because of Simone?” I shrug again because it’s the only response I have that doesn’t involve crying or swinging a baseball bat. Rhonda tilts her head, studying my face. “When did Simone start fucking Archer?”

I frown as I wind my finger closer to her head. “Tonight.”

Rhonda’s eyes bulge. “Really? So, I guess you aren’t dating her?”

Shaking my head, I sigh and struggle to find an out for this conversation. “Simone has been my wife, but not my girlfriend. We pretended to be married, and we fucked. We were at each other’s throats the rest of the time.”

Rhonda grabs my arm. “Maybe she only wanted you to believe they’re banging.”

“I know her. She can’t lie worth a dime. Or is it damn?” I smirk, though my heart breaks a little more.

Leaving her hand on my arm, Rhonda sighs. “Val swore you and Simone were a perfect match. She used to giggle when she saw you two talking and not arguing. She claimed your body language was so telling. Something about how your groins, toes, and chests gravitated toward each other. You’d both also lick your lips a lot around each other. I guess it’s a subliminal sign of desire.”

“No, it’s dehydrated bitching. That’s all. None of that shit is true. I feel zilch for her. She could fuck Brandon for all I care right now.” Rhonda drops her hand with a frown, and I say, “Ricky, then. But damn. I hate the polluted air she breathes. She’s shallow, conceited, greedy, and immature. She didn’t give a damn about me, not that I care one itty bit. But I wish I had never fucking laid my eyes or any other part of my body on her. My heart wouldn’t be such a mess without Simone,” I spew. I finish my vodka with sudden, hot tears streaking my cheeks. I drop my empty glass onto the carpet, prop my elbow on the back of the couch, and use my other hand to dry my stupid face. “Strong hootch,” I mumble, cringing at my limp-dick excuse for not being the genuine pussy I am.

Rhonda stares at me and is quiet, which is usual for her. She leans forward and whispers, “I’m sorry, Greg.” Rhonda reaches up, grips my jaw with both hands, and like she’s concentrating super hard, says, “I agree with Val. You’ll be okay. We’re all here for you. But not here, here. I’ll be in North Carolina, but still...” She smiles, which turns into a giggle. I smell her flowery perfume, cleansing my dark thoughts of today’s events. Rhonda’s bleary smile illuminates me somewhat through the drunk haze. It’s like the part of my brain that controls my immediate actions and words has gone haywire, holding the sober part hostage.

Rhonda drops her hands to her lap despite remaining closer to me. The weird thing is I now feel alone again. I move my hand back to her hair, playing with strands, but when I twirl some toward her face, I unwind it and stroke her cheek. Her eyelids flutter, and she stops breathing as I trail my thumb down to her bottom lip.

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