Unleashed: Unraveled Renegade, #3

Unleashed

Unraveled Renegade, Volume 3

Ren Alexander

Published by Ren Alexander, 2024.

Unleashed

By Ren Alexander

© 2024 Ren Alexander

Copyright License Notes

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without permission in writing.

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

NO AI TRAINING: Without in any way limiting the author’s exclusive rights under copyright, any use of this publication to train generative artificial intelligence (AI) technologies to generate text is expressly prohibited.

Cover design by Sarah Kil Creative Studio

www.sarahkilcreativestudio.com

For Chris.

Wherever you are.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

About Ren Alexander

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WARNING: This book contains profuse graphic language, explicit sexual content, violence, and dark content not suitable for sensitive audiences. Reader discretion is highly advised.

Chapter 1

Amos

WHEN ALL ELSE FAILS, throw out the rulebook, swig some whiskey, and screw the goddamn prom queen.

According to Gregory R. Rodwell.

The past two months have been nothing short of vicious for Greg, who has reverted to existing as a hermit inside of himself. No teasing grins, sarcastic retorts, or inappropriate jokes and innuendos at his usual level. Yet, even though his head remains down, avoiding eye contact with anyone, a fierce and inexplicable fire fuels him. Is he hanging on tenterhooks for a fresh start in Richmond? Perhaps for his future as a lawyer? The reading of Gloria’s will? The possibility of a life with someone new?

No. He’ll never want someone new. Simone was imperfectly perfect for him. She was the high to his low. The see to his saw. The light illuminating his darkness.

Greg is a troubled soul facing internal struggles and needs guidance from a trustworthy confidant. Simone filled that role. But when they faced the dilemma of Simone’s unexpected pregnancy, most likely from different viewpoints, their relationship imploded.

I planned our return to Richmond to coincide with his former wife’s exit, as she will finish college there. I needed the time to arrange my ducks before our departure, as the flock may take flight, wrecking my unauthorized but necessary machination. Regardless of my planning, one month prior, Greg contacted me while on his way to Richmond and expressed his impatience using offensive language. Caught unawares, it forced me to leave Durham the next day. Irrespective of the circumstances, he exhibits his refusal to conform and adhere to expectations daily. That will be an asset and a detriment for him as an attorney.

Checking my watch, I remain cautiously optimistic about this meeting. Tomorrow morning, I leave to tend to my ill mother in Roanoke. Still, if these past two months have proven anything, nothing is predictable. Life can turn on a dime and fall into a storm sewer. I feel this is my last hope of retrieving said dime.

Vivaldi’s Winter in F Minor peals from my jacket as I observe the road in front of the small bistro on the outskirts of Richmond. Retrieving it and seeing my niece’s name on the screen, I smile, as she is one of my favorite women. When I’m at the Richmond firm, I see her every day. With her being my older sister’s daughter, we’ve kept our kinship discreet, for the office is a small world.

We end our call as nearby footsteps grab my attention, and an unmistakable voice greets me. With a wary demeanor, my dinner date raises an eyebrow and locks eyes with me while shaking hands. "Hey, Amos. I didn’t expect to hear from you. You wouldn’t go into details. Are we talking shop, or do I need to speculate? If it’s about him, then I have a shitload to say."

Withdrawing my hand, I nod toward the entrance. Allow me to treat you to dinner while I plead my case.

I’m not an impartial judge. I’d burn him at the stake.

Please. You don’t know the entire story.

I know enough.

Greg did not end the marriage.

That’s not the point. Why do you care so much about him?

Because he’s a good man. Better than many of his age. I understand you’re the last person I should summon to assist me, but I’m at my wit’s end. Greg and Simone were in love. I promise that’s the truth. He’s suffering along with her. His personality extends far beyond being the office comedian.

Or an ex-husband? Before I respond, a sigh fills the air between us. Fine. You’d better make this good. I’ll hear you out, but only once.

I hope once will be all I need.

Chapter 2

MOTHERFUCKER!

Raising an arm to shield my eyes from the damn sun, a delivery driver heading back to his dead-end job shakes his head while three teen girls giggle at me on the sidewalk.

And then there’s Vaughn. Greg, please keep the profanity to a minimum in public.

"Why in the hell would I do that shit? And your front porch is hardly public." Son of a bitch. I swore to God I would not stay with Amos. I tried getting back into my old apartment, but my blowing that trash heap in the middle of the night pissed off the building manager. But he had no problem when Flo blew him at high noon in his car parked right on the street for all to see. Her Hoover lips sucking his dick harder than loose change stuck in a couch seared my brain that no amount of therapy can fix. Neverthefuckingless, I had no one else to stay with, so I gave up. I don’t have the energy or money to be picky.

Amos stares at me like a dead fish before he flaps his bloated lips again. You’ve been underground here for a fortnight, prohibiting me from divulging your whereabouts. With the potential of sounding cliché, may I present my argument against you returning to work this morning?

Stop talking like Captain Picard raiding a Renaissance Festival. I shoot Vaughn a dirty look, which gets me nowhere. No matter how hard I try to hate the freak or be mad at him for getting involved in my damn life, I can never repay the things he’s done for me. I’m as grateful as I am resentful of that.

With Amos still waiting for a valid answer or an acceptable lie, I shrug. Gotta return sometime. I have bills to pay and chicks to lay. I force myself to laugh, but it dribbles to a pathetic whimper. Clenching my jaw, I growl in frustration and head to my car.

I apologize that I must take my leave this morning for Roanoke, but I implore you to extend your sabbatical. You are unprepared, and I will be unavailable to provide support.

What are you, a bra? I’m not a toddler, Vaughn. I know how to do my job, and you not being there is like the cherry on a shitcake.

Please. I’d feel more comfortable being there upon your return to the office.

And waste how I look in my new threads? In my attempt to downgrade my life so I can afford to live, I bought new dress pants and a long-sleeve dress shirt at Target. But that’s as far as I go because I refuse to slum it at Walmart. I have standards, for fuck’s sake.

Amos eyes me up and down like I’m a streetwalker, begging to change a ten-spot. If he gets a woody, I will kick his ass to Jupiter.

I sigh and roll my eyes. Okay. I’ll wait until you get back. I still need to head to the store. If I stay home all day, I’ll need more lube.

He scowls at me when I snort, but his shoulders slump in relief. Thank you.

Whatever. Have a wonderful trip, and tell Mommy I said, ‘Yo.’

He places his suitcase and briefcase into his snooty Range Rover and offers me an incredulous smile. I’ll paraphrase it. Apparently, his mother is a retired schoolteacher. My grammar and vocab choice would traumatize her.

I watch him back out of the driveway and even toss him a limp wave. What the hell is his problem with me returning today? This fucker is up to something. And I need to find out.

I unlock the driver’s door to my new-to-me car. Ramming a truck into a tree because you’re too pissed off to care does nothing for drivability or to lighten the mood. I had bought this used and abused winner with all the money I had left. Amos gave me some options. The first was to take Gloria’s old Buick Roadmaster. I agreed only if Earth reversed its rotation.

The second option was for him to loan me money, arguing that he’d forward me some of Gloria’s imaginary bequeathed cash. I still can’t go there, but as long as I play by her dead-ass rules, I’ll never receive it.

The third option came two days later. Amos had a friend whose friend’s cousin twice removed needed to sell his car—a BMW. The clouds parted as naked ladies danced on them and droned new-age shit songs about horny whales.

Fortunately, the car was in excellent condition for being nineteen years old. No noticeable rust spots, dents, scratches, or missing parts. Awesome.

Regardless of its notoriety, it’s an honest-to-God, Girl Scout-toting, soccer-loving mom’s wagon, complete with a hatch gate. But according to the seller, Gord, a mega-anus whose face resembled two ass cheeks slapping together, do not call it a hatchback because they differ, people. Jesus, strike me down yesterday.

When I arrive at the office, I see familiar cars but feel like a virgin starting his first day at a BDSM club. Parking away from everyone on my floor, I sit in my car, nervous. Checking my hair and teeth in the rearview mirror, I sigh as my dark circles insist on advertising my shitshow life. Frustrated, I force myself to leave my car.

Donuts, Lysol, and mediocrity storm my nostrils when I enter the lobby. I stop at the guards’ desk to reinstate my key card. I set my bagged lunch on the counter. Greg, it’s good to see you again.

Hey, Heff. How are you?

He pulls up my card at the computer with a hollow sigh. Can’t complain unless you have an hour. Where did you go?

I grip the edge of the chest-high counter and shrug. I’ve practiced my standard answer for my coworkers about to bombard me with questions. I tried another avenue in North Carolina, but it didn’t work out. So, I’ve returned to the belly of the beast. I laugh as I nod and offer my hand to the other guard, who looks new. Hey. I’m Greg Rodwell, returning paralegal and all-around screw-up.

The blond, muscular behemoth shakes my hand, and I swear to Vanna White that he crushes no less than eight bones. Ian Irwin. Nice to meet you, Greg. I’m sure he’ll soon regret that. Everyone does.

After I’m official again, I keep my head down as I opt for the stairwell, since the lazy gossip fucks avoid it. My heart pounds as I walk upstairs, in no hurry to get there now. Nope. I still won’t give Amos the glory hole of being right.

Stopping at the second-floor door, I inhale, squeezing my right hand into a fist and gritting my teeth. What the fuck am I doing here so soon? I’m not ready to re-enter the white-collar workforce. I should’ve stayed in Durham. Even though I was a crappy bartender, I was far away from this old life of mine. No matter how much I hated that job, I want my other shitty life back.

Fuck it. Yanking the door open, I’m a hurricane blowing through it.

Save me, Lord! A flurry of papers flies upward like graduation caps and middle fingers.

Whoa, Patrice, Rhonda mumbles before looking my way. Oh, my God.

I laugh, approaching the reception counter while side-eying the left hallway. Let’s not get our panties in a twist.

Blushing, Rhonda purses her lips while Patrice scoffs. No problem. I don’t wear any. And there goes the rest of my life down the shitter.

Uh, TMI, I grumble with a frown she ignores.

Rhonda clears her throat, but her voice squeaks. What’re you doing here? You moved.

Moved again.

Whose move is it now? Patrice questions, picking up the strewn papers but not before inspecting both sides of each sheet, as if the flight jumbled all the words.

Yours. I lick my lips as I try to be chill. Is Hadley in her office?

Rhonda nods. Her disappointment is a muted foghorn. Yes. Val isn’t in yet.

Thanks, Ronnie. It’s good to see you. I take a deep breath before pushing off the counter.

Rhonda asks, Are you here to stay?

Watching Patrice building a sand castle one grain at a time, I answer, We’ll see.

Patrice stops her work. We close at five.

Rhonda giggles, but I shake my head before heading to Hadley’s office. I rap my knuckles on the partially open door. Housekeeping.

One familiar voice shrieks, What?

Another familiar and unwelcomed voice huffs, Shit.

I shove the door as sudden anger skyrockets into another galaxy. Shasta gapes at me like the goddamn bottom feeder she is. I laugh, but it’s not the ha-ha kind, but similar to Freddy Krueger, before slashing a throat.

Hadley stands, but she doesn’t move from around her desk. Shasta picks up a magazine and holds it against her plastic tits like a shield. She sidesteps and heads for the door as if I’m a friendly troll guarding a bridge. I kick the door closed and block the door handle. Going somewhere, Pinocchio?

She throws her fake nose into the air. I’m tying up loose ends. It’s my last day here.

On the planet?

Shasta rolls her eyes, but the tremor in her voice and the slight quiver in her hands betray her unmistakable fear. Hadley gawks at us like she’s unsure whether to defend Shasta or cheer me on. Shasta mutters, Move out of the way, Roddy.

Don’t call me that. Did you think you’d get away with pinning me with Grant’s kid until she’s eighteen and then shrug your shoulders like it was no big deal?

That’s not what I planned. I thought you were the father, and then you believed it—

What the hell did you expect me to do?

The magazine flutters as she motions at nothing. Walk away.

Fuck you. You don’t know a damn thing about me, then.

I know you ran away from the daughter you thought you had.

I was coming back!

Hadley clears her throat. This isn’t the best place to argue. She glances toward the door behind me. I know she’s right, but I wish I cared.

So what now? Grant will play daddy to that sweet kid?

Shasta looks at the floor, almost ashamed for the first time. He doesn’t want to be a father.

A little late for that.

Shasta grows a temporary pair and glares at me. What about you? Why’d you leave? Fatherhood too hard for you? So funny. Like you’d know. What sane woman would allow you to father her kid on purpose? Simone? I don’t think even she’d stoop so low. Rhonda? Like she could lure you to her bed.

She laughs, and I feel bad for Rhonda, who probably hears us from the lobby. I’d rather have a kid with her than this anus vase.

Simone? Well...

I crunch the paper bag in my fist as I close in on Shasta, making her stumble backward. You don’t deserve Birdy. I’m sure she’d be better off with Grant’s soon-to-be ex-wife.

I didn’t mean... Shasta rolls her eyes and looks at Hadley for help. Sure. Don’t be so dramatic about it. I messed up. Move on. It’s not like you were the best daddy to her. True, but that fucking hurts.

Putting my hand on my hip, I sneer, You don’t know how much I want to sue you or snap you in half for lying. There’s no fucking excuse for the hell you put me through.

Shasta giggles, and I’m close to turning her into whore confetti. Sue me? For what? Good luck getting oil from a radish. Is she serious? Even Patrice wouldn’t mess that one up.

I paid for Grant’s crooked cumshot up your skirt and across his desk. The mental image haunts me.

Hadley groans in disgust, and I’m right there with her. Shasta makes a face but averts her gaze, knowing I nailed it about him nailing her. However, Shasta seethes, You jealous you couldn’t do that?

No, thank you, Bathsheba Spooner. It was horrendous enough that I rode Willy Wonka’s chocolate ride from hell.

Hadley shrieks, I’m going to puke! Stop it! Same here.

Shasta attempts to get by me again, but I lean against the door. She whines, After today, I’ll be out of here.

It’s never too early to start.

We’re caught in an angry staring contest until I step away from the door, and she stomps from Hadley’s office.

Hadley and I sigh together. A new awkwardness fills the room, and I don’t want to face her. Why was I this stupid to think everything was normal again? How fucking delusional have I been?

Rod?

I swallow before turning toward her, making eye contact with Hadley. I’m at a loss for words. She looks the same, but different. I don’t know if it’s the sun or my imagination, but she seems shorter since the pedestal I put her on is no longer there.

Blinking, I realize I’m staring at her. Uh, what?

You’re looking at me weird. She laughs, but it’s polite, as if I’m the new jack.

I look at everyone weird. I clear my throat and shift my lunch bag to my other hand, feeling ninety shades of idiot.

I’m sorry you ran into Shasta like that. She was looking for Val. I didn’t know you were coming back for sure.

It was last minute.

Hadley nods but twists her fingers. It’s good to see you.

Um, yeah. I nod back while every nerve itches. I cross my arms, and it’s awkward with my lunch. So I prop my hand on the doorframe since Shasta left the door open. When that doesn’t feel right, I shift my bag and shove my hand into my pocket again.

Hadley watches me, possibly wondering if I’m stroking out. She smiles and motions to a chair in front of her desk. Sit down. I don’t bite. Her smile then drops when she maybe thinks of something else.

No, I’ll gab all day. I nod behind me. I should assess the damage. I bet my office is a storage room now.

No one has used it. And Amos was with you.

Don’t remind me.

Hadley’s hesitant gaze meets mine as she lets out a playful giggle. You look different.

I laugh and dig the tip of my shoe into the worn carpet that now resembles artificial turf. Looking in a mirror, I see the same old jackass I’ve always been. 

Your hair isn’t as short, and you haven’t shaved. You didn’t sport scruff at work before.

I shrug. While I was gone, I removed the stick up my ass. Now I’m the one cringing at how idiotic and sexual that sounded. I never had this much trouble talking to Hadley, and it’s my fault.

Hadley sighs. You’ve done a lot of different things.

I wave my hand, panicking. I didn’t come here to rehash my dumpster fire life. Everyone has a sob story.

Don’t downplay it. I still don’t know what happened to you and—

Nothing happened. It is what it is. Not much more to tell. We never got along. I don’t know why it’s a shock to anyone. It was more of a shock when we... I shake my head and swing my lunch back and forth. I just want to forget it.

Well, I haven’t seen her much. She’s been back in school.

Good for her. Aim high, shoot for the moon, and all that shit.

I know it’s weird, with me being her sister-in-law and you being... Hadley clears her throat and fiddles with her cardigan hem.

A horrible life decision? I’m nothing to her, so let’s not rehash the hash. I’ve moved on. She can do whatever she wants. Don’t care.

You can’t be like that. She’s your—

Don’t. So please, drop it, Phil Collins, because I don’t care anymore.

Hadley makes a face, confused, as is everyone else around me who only listens to aging boy bands and moody chicks with guitars.

A muffled squeal batters my ears before dry, cracked hands that smell worse than any Humane Society strangle my eyes. Guess who?

I squirm, but the reprobate hangs onto me like horse shit in Central Park. I whine, Betsy?

She laughs, but it sounds like a pig choking on a log. How’d you know? She shouldn’t want to hear me answer that one.

Since her flippers still assail me, I peel them off. As I scowl at Hadley, she frowns back, silently scolding me to be civil. I should’ve gone back to bed instead of needing to prove Vaughn a dumbass. The joke’s on me. I roll my eyes and turn to face the firing squad. I wish.

Betsy’s swamp-colored eyes light up, still eye-fucking me before she commits two felonious assaults. Oh, my Lord! She gawks at me as I continue her prayer, begging God to strike me dead this second.

Thanks a lot.

Uh, what? The look on her face is rabid, so I step back, bumping into Hadley’s desk.

You! Look at the hot Rod! Damn! Where’d you go? Did you get cosmetic surgery or something? Now, a harassment charge. She racks up the misdemeanors better than anyone.

Hadley admonishes, Betsy...

Oh, Hadley. Betsy waves her off but doesn’t remove her bulging eyes from my chest. I notice her hair is even shorter now. Not in a creative way, but more of her grabbing Val’s zig-zag scissors and cutting her hair in a tornado. Come on! You’re not the same Rod who left here. Look at those muscles! You have more hair! You even smell better. Ding Dong leans closer to me and sniffs the air between us. It’s bullshit that I’m not dead.

Trying to ignore the rest, I say, It’s Greg.

She blinks, giving me a reprieve. But then she screws up her homely mug. Huh?

Slower, I state, "Greg. My name is Greg. It has been since birth. Ask my parents." Well, it’s Gregory, but I don’t need her squealing that all the time.

Betsy snorts, and I vow to get rid of my snorting habit. Well, duh!

So, use it.

"But why? Everyone calls you Rod."

"How ‘bout I call you Bessie? Betsy’s eyes widen into outhouse buckets. I shrug. Since that’s your real name. Right?"

"No! It’s Betsy." She frowns and moves away from me. Morgan, the evil bitch known for her malicious nature, had a knack for uncovering secrets about her colleagues. Betsy was born Bessie Lou Best. Awesome name for an award-winning farm animal. But she’s no prize. It’s rumored that both her father and mother squirted her out on a tractor while tilling illegal marijuana. Maybe I started that rumor.

And there goes my breakfast.

Behind Betsy, Brandon Rhodes appears in the doorway. His grin reminds us he’s lord of the manor here. I thought I heard your voice. Are you here to visit?

I shake his offered hand as I plan an escape. Uh, no. Amos begged me to come back. He cried. It was ugly and embarrassing.

Oblivious to all jokes, Brandon nods. I’m sorry to hear he was upset. Where were you?

Durham. I helped at my aunt’s bar. I cross my arms, and my can of Dew almost cracks a rib. So, yeah. I guess you’re all stuck with me.

Brandon’s grin returns, and his pricey veneers blind me. That’s fantastic and fits with my news! Conference room in five.

He leaves, and all three of us sigh. Thankfully, Betsy leaves the room, and Hadley rounds her desk. We’re now feet apart, with nothing separating us. It’s stifling. Crossing my arms again to break a rib on the other side, I nod toward the hallway. Better get the good seats.

Right.

But before we reach the doorway, I stop and close the door. It’s better to get this shit out of the way and rip off that bandage. I, um, want to apologize for...that night. I’m sorry, and I’ll never do that to you again. I believed what I felt was more, and I turned into—

You already apologized.

Yeah, but not in person. I shake my head, appalled by my actions. Anyway, we’re friends. You’re in love with Finn Wilder. I know that, and I won’t do anything again to mess up your marriage. I hope you can forgive me. Please, so I can stop hating myself a little less.

Hadley smiles with a nod. I accept your apology, Greg. And I agree. Never do that shit to me again, or Finn will have something to say about it. I punched you. Don’t make me do that ever again. Got it? I nod as her eyes harden, surprising and humbling me. She then bites her lip. I’m also sorry. I did my share of misleading you, I think. I guess I didn’t consider your feelings being so...

We stare at each other for another few seconds before I swing open the door and wait for Hadley to go first. This time, I don’t look at her ass, not having that urge anymore. I guess I’ve changed somewhat.

After dumping my jacket and lunch in my still-the-same office and then my Dew at the fridge, we walk into the conference room, where Betsy badmouths me to Shasta, the cunt-cicle. Yep. Things are totally the same here.

Sylvie gasps before toddling over to me in her stilettos. Rod, you’re back!

Betsy yips, "It’s Greg now, everyone!"

The room falls silent, though few people are in here yet.

Sylvie asks, Are you back? Val mentioned you moved away.

I went back to my hometown in North Carolina. Helped at my aunt’s bar. Nothing earth-shattering. Except for tying the knot, making a kid, losing two, and then torching that knot.

Sylvie swings her fancy diamond hoop earrings as she reaches for a bottle of water. This place wasn’t the same without you. I could’ve sworn she thought I was the janitor.

Brandon enters the conference room with his briefcase and a smug smile. In his seventies, he’s a rich fucker who lives in a mansion, drives a brand-new Porsche, and fucks a twenty-six-year-old. However, Shasta’s mileage far exceeds the yearly average.

Betsy slithers to his side. Brandon’s here! Let’s get our party on! Her mouth is an insult to humanity. Springy gold earrings twist as she laughs, sounding like a drowning horse. Betsy is an active Taco Tuesday blow-out at the nursing home, wearing a billow brown skirt but a tight yellow blouse.

She paws Brandon’s arm, using his long-sleeve Armani dress shirt as her litter box. Zero class. There’s no chance she’d reject a request for a hand job with an audience.

Seething at her faux-bestie flirting with Brandon, Shasta glares at them before looking my way, no doubt blaming me for this shit-uation. Nope. Nothing changes.

Hadley whispers, I hear you murdering them.

Wholesome fun for the family. I glance down at Hadley. How’s the kid?

Hadley’s face lights up with her pretty smile. Finley’s doing well. Getting big too fast. You should stop by to see her.

I shrug. I don’t think being at your house is a good idea.

"You don’t have to worry about her being there."

I cock an eyebrow. "But I have to worry about him. I’ll never be at your house again."

Hadley sighs as she pulls out a chair. Finn is...concerned...like we all are. We wonder what happened. She looks up at me, waiting for an explanation, but she won’t get the truth today. Or maybe ever.

Yeah. Concerned that I’m still breathing unassisted.

"He’s not that upset."

I adjust my green paisley tie with a laugh. That’s hilarious.

He doesn’t blame just you. We both know she’s... While Hadley searches for a word, I grit my teeth, stuck between not wanting to talk about Simone and wanting to defend the fuck out of her, even to Hadley. She shrugs. Impulsive. Hadley then looks away from me before sitting at the table. Glancing over at Knob One and Knob Two, standing next to Brandon at the front of the room, I receive expected dirty looks. I roll my eyes and pull out the chair next to Hadley. Let’s just get this over with. I don’t want those hags to get the impression that I give two shits what they think of me.

Voices fill the doorway as Patrice and Rhonda enter the room. Patrice stops, with Rhonda bumping into her. "Look at you, Mr. Rhodes. All tanned from your vacation. I thought you’d never return."

Brandon twists his polite smile. The last vacation I took was two months ago, Patrice. I’ve been here.

Are you sure?

I’m certain.

Well, maybe you’ve been standing too close to the microwave?

Hadley whispers, Good God. She’s unreal.

I laugh as Shasta yanks out the chair beside me and plops down. How was North Carolina? I heard you were a bartender for a while.

I notice her shadow, Betsy, sitting beside her, emboldening Shasta to antagonize me more to show off. Awesome. I reach for a bottle of water in the middle of the table so I don’t grab her throat. So?

Is it true our friend Simone chased you down there?

I swallow before even taking a drink. No.

Well, I know she did an internship there.

I turn toward Shasta, ready to throw down as Sugar Daddy Brandon watches. And how do you know this?

Shasta nods past me. Your girl over there mentioned it. Son of a fuck.

Hadley waves her hands like windshield wipers on warp speed. Brandon asked, and I mentioned Simone also being there for an internship. That’s all I said.

Betsy laughs. "I bet they hung out." She uses stupid air quotes, making her look like she’s signaling the mother ship. I wish they’d get here already.

I scoff. So what if we did? She helped at the bar.

Rhonda sits across from Hadley and glances at me, worried. I smile back. Rhonda and I have a strange friendship. She had figured out I had feelings for Hadley but didn’t hate me for using her as a diversion. Even I hate myself for doing that. 

Greg Rodwell?

I twist to see Val’s surprised face. Before I push out my chair, her arms swing around my neck from behind in a hug. What are you doing here?

Going crazy. Her mint-green tweed jacket, maybe from Nordstrom, rubs against my chin. Val could dumpster dive and still be classy.

Amos didn’t mention you were returning this soon.

Surprise.

Well, I’m glad you’re here. We’ve missed you.

Not everyone, Shasta grumbles.

Val squeezes my arm, telling me to ignore Shasta. I’m trying, but the bitch irks my every nerve.

Sylvie takes the chair across from me while Val takes her usual seat next to Brandon at the head of the table, throwing concerned glances at me.

Brandon checks his watch and says, Amos is out of town, Crick is on vacation, and almost everyone is here. Let’s give another minute—

I’m here!

That voice.

I swing my head just as a flurry of platinum hair and blue bounces into the conference room to the beat of her eager footsteps. Hadley’s sharp intake of air matches mine.

Simone stops at Brandon to say hello, oblivious to my presence. Shasta huffs as she crosses her arms and leans toward me to whisper, Looks like your slutty stalker is here.

There’s an airplane hangar of responses I want to give Shasta, but I can’t take my eyes off my ex.

Hadley grips my right arm and whispers, I don’t know why she’s here. I swear. Don’t say anything to her in front of everyone.

Glaring at Simone as she rounds the table, I answer, Wouldn’t dream of it.

Simone lifts her gaze to see Hadley but then stops dead. The blood drains from her face as her eyes bug out of her skull. I cock an eyebrow, communicating more than a mere hello.

Sylvie asks, What’s wrong, Simone?

Remembering where she is, Simone blinks back to life and forces a smile as her gaze falls to the table. Nothing.

Sylvie says, Rod’s back. Isn’t that awesome?

Simone licks her lips and eyes the closest empty chair. Uh, yep. Hello.

Hadley digs her nails into my arm as I reply, Yo. I shake off Hadley’s claws, and she eases back into her chair.

Simone drops her purse on the table and removes her jacket before stumbling into the seat next to Audrey and across from Betsy, diagonal from me.

Across from Hadley, Rhonda sighs, and I hesitate before sending my attention to her. Her gaze falters when she looks up at me, going from me to the table and back to me again.

Brandon clears his throat, and I return to Simone, whose icy blue eyes stab me before she smiles at Hadley. Good morning to all of you. I called this meeting because softball season begins in two weeks, with our first practice this Saturday afternoon at 1:30.

Betsy gasps, Already? I haven’t recovered from last season! Yes, being the least valuable player is exhausting work.

Brandon nods, somewhat irritated at her for interrupting. I wish he’d fire her with actual fire. I met with the other team managers to review rules, venue changes, and participating teams. There is a new team, an accounting firm, The Dividends.

I roll my eyes. Seriously?

Brandon looks up from his paper and adjusts his old-timer glasses. What?

Their creative effort is breathtaking. I shrug and look back at Simone, who again looks away. Her hair is in a twisty knot, and she’s wearing metallic tassel earrings. I watch the lime green sweater she wore with me months ago rise and fall with her shallow breaths. I’d give anything to taste her tits again. Next to me, Shasta mutters shit, and I want to slam her face into the table. Or maybe Brandon’s crotch, where it lives, anyway. Maybe it’d shut him up.

There is also a new rule regarding participation. Previously, we could ask friends to join our teams, such as Simone and Nico. However, this year, they must be an employee of the company sponsoring the team.

Most of my coworkers huff and puff as if it’s a declaration of war. Sylvie shakes her head. Why does it matter?

Because some of the best players have not been employees. Some feel this is unfair, as anyone could join a team to tip the scales.

I sigh. Since this is major league and all.

Brandon frowns. But this isn’t a community league, either. Let’s level the playing field, so to speak. What a spineless asshole.

Shasta sneers, So Simone won’t be on the team anymore. Too bad.

I retort, Neither will you. Thank fuck.

Sylvie asks, Then, what will we do? We won’t have enough players. I mean, not everyone can make it to all the games.

Pushing up his glasses, Brandon says, Well—

Betsy shrieks, We have to forfeit because of this unfair new rule?

Brandon’s frown droops. Now, now, Betsy. It’s a fair compromise. But Amos has hired Simone to be his assistant, making her a valid employee.

What the hell? I spew, drawing all eyeballs to me. "I’m his assistant."

Brandon nods as confusion latches onto his face. Yes, but from what Amos told me, you’ll start school soon. He advised he’ll keep you on opposite schedules or rotate.

He can sit and rotate, I mumble under my breath. Hadley pushes on my arm.

Brandon pushes up his glasses. To keep Simone on the team, it’s the only way.

And he didn’t feel the need to mention this?

Why is that necessary? Brandon’s confusion irritates me, and I growl toward my lap. It’s not like I can say much more.

When I look up, Brandon glances at Simone and then at me. Is there an issue with Miss Simpson working here? Oh, fuck no.

I look up, feigning cluelessness. "Simpson? Who’s that?"

Simone clears her throat as she flips an ink pen between her fingers, watching it with more fascination than necessary. That’s me. I changed my name for personal reasons. Yeah. It should still be Rodwell.

Betsy sneers, "Like Mr. Rodwell did? He’s now Greg for all of you who didn’t hear." Climb a flagpole in a thunderstorm, hag.

Sylvie rolls her eyes and asks, What’s the big deal if Simone works here, Rod? Shit. I dug my own grave.

I shrug. Whatever. It’s not like she’s our star player.

Simone narrows her eyes at her pen before pretending she didn’t hear me. Betsy gripes more about Sylvie calling me Rod. I turn to Hadley and say, Mrs. Wilder, don’t tell me your old man works here now.

Hadley giggles. "He’d never give up The Wild Side."

Though I asked the question, Simone addresses everyone but me. My brother will still be our coach.

And back to hell I go, I complain.

Brandon holds up his hand. This new rule doesn’t apply to coaches. Finn and Ricky will still coach our team. Both douche holes can fuck off.

As Rhodes drones on, I stare at Simone’s profile. Her large earrings skim her neck as she nods, listening to the withered ball sack discussing changes to the league. Weeks ago, Simone and I were in my bed. I grazed my fingers along her silky skin below her ear and underneath her chin. I followed my fingers with my tongue as Simone’s panting urged me to grab her tit and lick her nipple. Moving over her, I teased her pussy with my eager dick. But in reality, she was the one torturing me. Since the first time I jizzed inside her, I couldn’t look away from watching myself drip—

Greg?

When blue eyes wake mine, laughter shreds my daydream and yanks me back to the conference room. With Simone catching me gawking at her, I shake my head and look at the rude fucker who interrupted a perfect distraction to this dumpster fire. What?

Brandon purses his lips but never loses his cool. Is everything okay? Did you hear my announcement?

I lick my lips, annoyed. I’m fine. And yes. The Mets take the field.

My coworkers snicker again, but the joke isn’t on me this time, so I relax. As much as that’s possible with Simone’s green-sweatered, fuckable tits mere feet from me.

Vaughn has some explaining to do. His omission only bolsters the anger and betrayal I feel toward the prick since he could have told me this morning, at the fucking least. Maybe, even, he could have just minded his own business and not flung Simone back into my life like this. I had a plan. Now, that’s all shot to hell.

Brandon repeats, Greg? And I wish my mother was with me now. She’s the only one besides Rhodes who can bore me into a coma.

Uh, present?

Before losing my attention again, Brandon says, This year, there’s an incentive to win the softball championship.

The Bahamas! Betsy squeals and pounds the table with her paws.

Brandon sighs with a rare side-eye. Yes, I was getting to that. Each team wants to reward their players with a grand prize if they win. If we win first place, I will fly all of you and a guest to the Bahamas.

More screeching ensues around me. Hadley asks, Aren’t you excited, Rod? Yeah, sure. A honeymoon with my ex-wife, my BFF, her jag-off husband, and the coworkers I can’t stand. I’m so hard up for it.

My scowl douses Hadley’s joy. You think we’re gonna win the whole thing? Not happening, sister.

I think we can.

Shasta giggles. This team will be lucky to rank at all.

I turn to the cum stain and whisper, Jealous much? You ain’t even eligible to blow the loser. So shut your trap. Speaking of losers, I can always mention Grant’s departure.

Her laughter flees, and she zips her mouth. It’s about time.

Brandon watches us and says, Our first practice will be this Saturday. Nico will also play this season.

I ask, How?

Val leans forward to make eye contact with me. I hired him as our office courier of sorts. Instead of making multiple trips to the courthouse daily, Nicky will swing by to collect everyone’s filings and deliver them himself.

Sylvie brushes aside her overpriced haircut with a gasp. Isn’t that cheating?

Val shakes her head. Why would it be? The new rule states the players must be paid employees. It doesn’t disqualify contractors or part-time employees.

Betsy frowns and nods across the table. What about Simone?

Simone frowns back at her. Well, I’m working evenings here until I graduate next week. After that, I’ll be full-time before starting graduate school. Simone tilts her head. Shouldn’t you disclose you work at Petco on the weekends? It may interfere with our games.

Betsy sits straighter and asks, How do you know that?

Simone’s grin is slow, ice cold, and oh, so fucking delicious. I have my resources. I wipe my mouth with my hand to ensure I’m not drooling. I still need to hate her.

With more bitching from Betsy and an ass-ton of questions about the freeloader trip to the Bahamas, Brandon wraps up the meeting. Thank God and Pat Sajak.

Brandon regains control of the room and says, I want to remind everyone that today is Shasta’s last day here. But since she leaves Richmond on Sunday morning, I’m throwing a party in her honor at my house on Saturday night at 7 p.m. I hope you all can make it. Don’t forget, we won’t be working on Monday, as we are replacing the carpet. The company is only available to do this job then.

Everyone cheers except me because I’m too busy staring at Simone. Let’s not forget to welcome back our very own Greg Rodwell, who will take the LSAT and pursue law school. That brittle motherfucker.

Sylvie’s mouth drops open. You’re becoming a lawyer?

I squeeze my fists under the table and force myself to engage. That’s the rumor.

Patrice scrunches up her face. You mean to tell me you’re not one now?

I stare at the table as I focus on the pain in my fist. I’ve never given you that impression.

Yes, you did. Uh, sure.

Rhonda asks, What area of law?

I look at Rhonda and smile. Juvenile law.

Shasta mumbles, How fitting.

I lean closer to her and whisper, Let me know if you still think that’s funny when you’re scrubbing a Chipotle shitter.

Patrice laughs. Matlock for youngsters? For fuck’s sake.

In my peripheral, Simone smiles, but when I look at her, she kills it and studies her pen-twirling.

Val says, Rod will make an excellent attorney. I’m so proud of him.

I grin. Hearing Val say that about me is humbling and exhilarating until Betsy admonishes her for calling me that. Jesus motherfucking Jones.

I grin at her confused horror, as if she detonated a bomb. The only bomb here is Betsy the turd. It doesn’t apply to you, Val. That woman can do no wrong. Ever. I’d request that name by itself on my tombstone if she asked. One name like Madonna. Pitbull. Jigsaw. Rod.

Grating noise consumes the remaining part of the meeting. I try not to stare at Simone, but it’s impossible. Everything we’ve been through. Everything we made each other feel. Her naked body against mine. Her waterfalls. Her passionate kisses. All of it raids my mind.

As soon as Brandon stops yapping, I jump up. However, Hadley grabs my arm and whispers, Rod, come on.

As usual, Brandon is clueless about any drama exploding around him and leaves the room. Shasta starts toward the door, but I snap, Don’t think we’re done here, Montgomery.

She