Page 77 of Unleashed

I try to devise a plausible lie, but with melting ice watering down my drink, I save time and go with the truth. Why should I care what she thinks? “We used to be fuck buddies. I’ve seen him from every angle and have licked every one of his inches.” I bite my lip but laugh at Nico’s and Hadley’s horrified expressions. Worth it.

Trashy puckers her lips and looks super annoyed. “I didn’t know. If you’re still...”

I laugh as Greg glares at me over Trashy’s head. I’m already this far. May as well bring this fucker home. “Greg is so not my speed. I’m in the passing lane while he’s in my rearview.” If you touch him, I will feed your nipples to you, heifer. “But we got married, anyway.”

“Uh, what?” Before her beer reaches her mouth, Trashy sets down the brown bottle with a scrabbled thump.

Greg pulls on her arm. “It’s not real. It’s only when her dad is around us. That’s all.”

As he attempts to shovel the shit I threw at them, I scrunch my nose and make a gagging face. Unfortunately, I’m not invisible, and now Hadley appears mad at me. She leans forward and ditches subtlety. “What are you doing?”

I pound the table with my fist, making our glasses jump and ice clatter. “Just telling the truth! I see he hasn’t! I screwed Greg Rodwell’s brains out! And he begged for more. Jesus, people.” Oops. Maybe I’ve had more to drink than I thought.

As I grit my teeth, trying not to be too proud of my announcement, Nico asks, “Simone, you want to dance with me?”

I zip my attention to him and laugh. “Why? You looking for an easy lay? Not tonight, Ferrera.” Or ever.

His smile falls, and I feel like a shrew. But there’s no way I’ll dance with him when he suspects too much. Nico sits back and shrugs. “Just a thought.” His side glance at Greg screams that I’m insane. Yeah, sure. Only me.

I wrap my arms around my stomach like I’m holding down vomit. I still feel Hadley’s eyes on me, and I’d give anything to transport somewhere far from here, like one of Saturn’s moons.

Trashy leans against Greg as more drinks arrive, and I can’t help but notice her hand on his leg. I guess she’s okay cavorting with a married man.

Not married. Fuck.

Puke swirls, and rage fills me—not because I’m jealous. But because nobody wants to see their half-assed PDA. He wouldn’t finger-fuck me earlier, but he’ll let her jack him off in front of all of us at the table? Such a crock of shit.

Fury forces me out of my chair, and since I’m full of anger, tension, and unprettiness, I avoid Hadley. She’ll dig for clues faster than that show-off, Bob the Builder. “Sylvie, come with me to the restroom.” Nico and Hadley watch me with way too much fucking interest, like they know what’s going on in my head. No one does.

She tears her eyes away from Greg and his rent-a-slut, and whines, “What? Why?”

On the other side of the table, Rhonda appears sickened and panicked. I don’t know why I included her tonight. It’s not like she’s eager to dance or is helpful in my frantic emotional state. Desperate for space, I widen my eyes at Sylvie until she relents with a pout.

I almost run to the restroom, with Sylvie straggling behind me. The sight of Greg and his whatever triggers a wave of nausea. He can’t be serious about Trashy. He was supposed to go out with Cleo in Durham, but married me. I’d rather see him with her than with this pierced crotch leech.

When we enter the restroom, Sylvie sighs as I go to a stall. The two women here leave as I blow my nose, fighting angry tears. I close my eyes and breathe, trying to calm myself, but as I smell lemon cleaner and piss, I avoid letting Sylvie know how upset I am. How stupid to think I needed her with me.

I hear her walking over to the sinks. “Simone, what’s upsetting you? Are you jonesing for Greg Rodwell?” If fucking Sylvie thinks she has a chance with him, then she’s ditsier than me. No woman deserves Greg. That includes me.

And it’s especially fucking impossible when he slicked his hair up like he did for Halloween last year, and he showed up at my apartment, horny for me. And then horrendously not.

My heart squeezes. “Are you serious?”

“He’s fucking hot in an understated way. And since he has a date, it seems to upset you.”

I wipe my nose again. “Please. We’re nothing. We enjoy arguing.”

“Well, arguments can lead to super-hot sex.”

I roll my eyes at the graffiti on the stall wall. It’s a well-known fact that Sylvie Tucker had an affair with Grant, who was very married. At practice last season, she bragged about him giving her a rim job in a Kohl’s dressing room.

“His tongue fucked my asshole as I flicked the bean. He licked so deep. I watched in the mirrors and held my ass open for him. God. I didn’t think I’d like him doing that. But everyone in Kohl’s knew how much I did.”

Gag. And she told me about when Grant texted her to meet him at a restaurant where he and his wife had dinner. With it dark outside, they met up behind the building and fucked in the bushes next to the window near his table. As his wife ate chicken parmesan, Sylvie was on the other side of the wall fucking that poor woman’s husband, doggy style. All kinds of classy there.

Disgusting. But she’s never had sex with Greg Rodwell. He made my body feel things that I didn’t know were possible.

I spot Greg slow-dancing with a blue-haired broom when we reach the dance floor. Tears sting my eyes, but before they pull me under, I turn to Sylvie and grab her hand. Sylvie also once mentioned at practice that she’s up for anything.

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