Page 25 of Bona Fide

I should’ve moved when I had the chance.

"This thing right here...is lettin' all the ladies know...what guys talk about. You know, the finer things in life…"

I might not be up to date on music, but I know this song.

The fucking Thong Song.

I changed my mind. I’m going to kill this woman.

* * *

Stridingfrom the crowd of people, the Thong Song still plays as people gape at me like I've lost my damn mind.

I have, if you didn’t notice yet.

Some of the younger folks, teens that their parents dragged to this party, actually start to dance.

Chase, on the other hand, he's trying his best to contain his laughter as he stands at the edge of the bar and watches me make my way to him.

"Hey, man," he greets with a smile before holding up his tumbler of dark liquid. "Nice party and song choice."

I don't hide my glare as I wave down one of the bartenders.

"What's up? You look miserable."

Brother, if you only fucking knew the shit I've done.

Guilt starts to choke me out as I stare at the only man who's ever had my back and never turned away when shit got tough.

He was there when I married Demi, when things began to go south.

When I wanted to leave her.

Through the darkness of the fucked-up mistakes, I made it. I did some crooked shit to get where I am now, and the shame drapes over and suffocates me.

Chase was the only guy I trusted, Em aside, and I'm using his pictures and name to keep talking to a woman I'll never be able to tell because I can't take two kicks to the balls over the things she already knows.

"I'm at a party with people I can't stand," I say instead. "Just counting down the hours until this shit is over." I order a whiskey while Chase leans over the bartop, sipping on his own drink.

"Got about two to three hours," he conveys. "Just keep drinking, it'll help to drone people out."

"And keep me in the morning headlines as the lush who can't hold his liquor."

Chase gives me a gentle smack to the back of the shoulder. "You're too hard on yourself, man. Relax a little."

"I can't when my wife is fucking here." My best friend drops his drink, landing perfectly on the counter.

"You said what now?"

"Demi. Here. Acting like a cunt bitch, the usual." He leans closer, as though he’s having a hearing problem.

He’s not.

"She's here?"

The bartender slides over my drink. "Unless I've been hallucinating for the last few weeks. I’ve seen her multiple times."

"Dude, why the hell haven't you told me?"

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