Page 79 of Unleashed

I rub my arm against the man next to me in short sleeves to get his attention, which is suspect. What guy wears a polo shirt to a nightclub? He’s one of three things: a rookie FBI agent, Jake from State Farm, or a serial killer who’ll stab me and leave my body to rot in a cornfield.

I make my voice extra breathy. “Margaritas. Mine with peach and strawberry, and my friend wants lime and strawberry.”

“Sugar or salt?”

I lick my lip and rub my arms against this dude for luck. “Um, you pick.” The bartender winks at me, and I giggle, catching the eye of Agent Cringy. When the brunette shifts, I see bright blue eyes, a hint of a beard, and pillowy lips. Not bad, Simone.

I give him a mega-watt Wilder-by-proxy smile before turning to Sylvie. “It’s your turn to pay.”

Sylvie’s eyes widen, horrified, as expected. “Simone, I don’t have my purse.”

“Well, damn, Sylvie! I thought you picked it up after giving some rando a lap dance. Now, what’re we going to do?”

As if Baby Jesus was listening and answering my prayer, the Polo Shirt Killer says, “I would love to buy you both a drink.” Halle-goddamn-lujah!

I put one hand on his arm and the other on the top of my bare boobs. “Thank you so much. I’m Addy, and this is Hazel Sue.” Sylvie giggles, but she needs to pull her shit together fast.

“Ben. So, where are your dates tonight?” He’s working fast. I like it. Greg won’t be on the dance floor all night. No. He’ll be in that Blue’s Clues bitch’s bed.

“No dates. Just a girls’ night. It’s better than sitting at home alone, day in and day out.” I pout, but turn to smirk at Sylvie. She shakes her head as I check the dance floor. Greg is still there. Awesome.

I turn to Ben as the bartender slides our margaritas to us. “Thank you,” I purr. It’s important to be kind when it’s deserved.

“Anytime, sweetheart.” I’m not a fan of the nickname. Only one person gave me the best nicknames.

I take a sip, sliding my tongue over the sugary rim. I guess that wouldn’t have been so smooth with salt. “Thank you again for the drink, Ben. I should hug you.”

He swivels his seat more and holds out his arms. “Come here, then.” Ugh. Too eager, but it’s necessary. I need to remind myself this guy will not be in my pussy. No man ever will be again.

Instead of front-on-front action, I slide sideways between his legs and lean into his chest. Beer mingles with his super woodsy cologne, reminding me of my stepdad’s. Jack Simpson always smells like a forest and dresses like a lumberjack. That’s my Jackie. Anyone else qualifies as a truck stop Casanova.

From here, I see Sylvie talking to the guy on the other side of her, a bearded man who looks like Santa straight out of high school or a roadie for a failed Southern rock band. The black beard, thick eyebrows, gold hoop earring, and chunky gold chain necklace qualify him as a pirate. Because I say so.

Ben says, “Your dress is so shiny. I probably could see you in the dark.” Buddy, you won’t be seeing me two minutes from now.

Throwing my head back, I laugh. When I open my eyes, I see Greg glaring at me. Well, I think at me, unless Sylvie has pissed him off too.

On impulse, I lean closer to Ben and regret whispering, “Not when it’s in a pile on the floor.” His hand moves to my hip, but drifts to my ass as he pulls me closer. My forearm brushes against his hard crotch. Eww! Eww! Eww!

But I’m on a mission and can’t scream out of here, all because this guy wants to fuck me in exchange for a bland margarita.

When I try to pull away, Ben holds onto me and whispers, “Finish your drink, and we can get out of here.” He grabs my ass cheek through my dress, and I’m about to knee him in his presumptuous balls.

I push on his chest enough so I can straighten. When I do, that’s when I see fucking Greg kissing Tansy.

That did not just happen. Nope. Couldn’t have. Not a chance.

And the fucker is still kissing her. Eyes closed, and like he’s removing her tonsils. Our plan has gone to shit. Greg was supposed to be... What? Jealous? What am I doing? I’m trying to drive him away, not reel him in! God, I can’t trust myself to fuck up my life!

I pull on the hem of my dress and turn to Ben, the molester. “I need to tell the rest of my girls I’m leaving. I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.”

He grins. “Oh, I won’t.” Hit the road, dude. I’d fuck Ferrera in front of you before touching your dirty dick on purpose.

I clear my throat as I watch Sylvie pawing Black Beard while swift tears sting my eyes. I will not fucking cry in this stupid club in front of a sex offender and ruin my face with streaky mascara. “Hazel Sue...” Sylvie ignores me as I watch Black Beard’s hand slide up her thigh and under her dress. I’ve entered a private level of hell. Before this guy fingers Sylvie in front of me, I try louder, “Hazel Sue!”

Sylvie stumbles away from her pirate, hissing, “What?”

I whisper, “I’m going home. This... I need to go.”

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