Rhonda purses her lips, and a smile emerges. “Maybe.”
I laugh and then push away from my truck, probably with dirt on my back. “I wasn’t sure if I could make it. I didn’t have your phone number to let you know.”
“I don’t have another phone. Not yet.”
“Oh. Really?” I look to see if she’s yanking my dick, but I don’t take Rhonda for a jokester. And her stoic expression screams in agreement loud and clear.
“Gloria, though? That’s information I could’ve lived without.”
“Sorry. I thought it was obvious.”
“That she’s some kind of sex beast? Excuse me while I step into traffic.” She smiles, and I nod to my truck. “Get in.” I probably should’ve opened the door for her, but that’s too much into real-date territory. I don’t want to send her the wrong message, or before I know it, I will end up in a Vegas wedding chapel.
Starting the truck, I ask, “So, Gloria and this Lou guy? I thought she was dating some schoolkid.”
“She is.”
My jaw drops and I gape at Rhonda. “What?” I sound like some old biddy at the hair salon. “Shit. I don’t want to know what you have on me.”
“You’re a nice guy.”
“Who fed you that lie? Amos? He stays at work late, playing Solitaire sometimes. I wouldn’t take his claims seriously.”
“It’s what I see. You’re a good person.” She turns to the window, muttering, “Believe me. I know the bad ones. You’re not one of them.”
“Maybe you’re wrong.” I want to have an off-limits tryst with my married best friend. That’s not exactly good-person behavior. And what’s worse is I really don’t give a fuck if it’s not.
The drive is unsurprisingly quiet. I have nothing I want to contribute, and I certainly don’t want to talk more about Gloria’s sex life.
I park in a lot down the street from the entrance. Getting out of my truck, an amplified voice talking followed by faint music fills the distance. Meeting Rhonda at the front of my truck, she says, “There are several stages here for different musical acts.”
“Since moving to Richmond, I’ve never paid attention to any of the festivals here.”
She smiles, taking everything in around us. Her hair is in a messy bun, which looks buttered, glowing in the sun. Feeling awkward as fuck, I ask, “Where to first?”
Rhonda shrugs, which makes me sigh. I resist checking my watch, and I follow other people while Rhonda falls into step next to me. The walk is long, and our conversation is nonexistent. When we pass the first tented stage, a man strumming a banjo basically beats me over the head just playing it. The sound is worse than an ice pick digging at my brain.
We walk side-by-side, passing food stands and even some selling beer. Shit. A keg would be nice. I don’t even know where we’re going. Passing another stage, foot stomps accompanied by hollering knee me in the nuts. This kind of music is all too familiar, like the shit-stomping music my grandparents listened to. Fuck. Peering around the crowd, I now notice the banners and signs. The Richmond Folk Festival.
Are you folking kidding me?
A music festival. Why in the hell didn’t I do some research? I didn’t know it was this bullshit. I feel betrayed.
I stop walking, forcing the crowd to veer around us. On the stage is Cletus Hoke and the Hayseeds and they’ve deployed a goddamn accordion. Forget beer. I need a tranquilizer dart for either them or me.
As I search for an emergency escape route, Rhonda asks, “Did you want to go anywhere in particular?” Hell would be great.
“Uh, we can eat.” Something poisonous.
“Okay. What do you want? They have burgers and hot dogs. Maybe some other things.”
Jesus Christ. Just get me away from this stage. “You pick.”
This time I follow Rhonda, but it’s hard with fucking people everywhere. All for folk music? Kill me now, Satan.
Rhonda leads us to a chicken stand. Not caring, I pick the first item on the menu and a random drink. Rhonda pays for us both, insisting, even if she can’t afford a phone. She then leads the way to a picnic table area nearby and silently cursing my mother for not falling down a flight of stairs when pregnant with me, I take a seat across from Rhonda. She smiles at my plate. “Chicken fingers and chicken salad?’
I now notice what I chose. “I color outside of the lines.” Taking a sip of my unknown drink, finding it’s unsweetened tea, I try not to gag as I set it aside. I then look at her chicken fajita. I’m surprised she picked that. I thought maybe boiled chicken and mushy rice.
She laughs as a breeze works to deconstruct her hair even more. “No. I just don’t know much about you. I want to know more.” No, you don’t.
“I’m sure you can find out on your own. You seem to know the ins and outs of the office.” Shit. Please don’t.
“Like Brandon and...?”
I cringe, always connected to Shasta. “Yeah. So, that speaks volumes about what kind of person I am.”
“I don’t see it that way.” She’s quiet as she chews, but then says, “No one’s perfect. And I know you’re not a quitter. You’re dedicated.” I can’t believe I got her talking. Unfortunately, it’s about me.
“Who told you that?”
“It’s what I see. It’s what our attorneys say about you.”
“Even Gloria?”
“Yes.”
“Well, thanks for keeping the bad things about me to yourself.”
Rhonda laughs, setting down her lemonade. “I believe what I see.”
“Why’d you quit?”
Resembling a turtle, she almost retreats into a shell. “I had a lot to sort out.”
“You were married?”
She nods. “Not anymore.” Rhonda frowns as she sits straighter. “It was sort of arranged.”
“Uh, what the hell?”
“My mother’s business... A merger... Single daughter... Money talks.”
“Holy shit. And you got a divorce?”
“Annulment. Money talks a lot.”
“You got married because of your mother’s business dealings? And then you just...”
“Dumped him. It cost me everything, including my parents.”
“Shit. But why’d you come back if they live here?”
“They don’t. They live in New York. As does my former husband. That’s where I went.”
“Jesus, Ronnie.”
“Ronnie?” She grins as she pulls hair off her face. “I’ve never been called that before.”
I shrug, reaching for another chicken finger. “You look like a Ronnie.”
“Is that good?”
I watch her expectant, sweet face as she waits for an answer. Swallowing, I nod. “Yeah. It’s good.”
She lightly giggles but instantly is serious again. “Well, what about you? Do you prefer Rod, Greg, or Gregory?”
I smirk, liking I have a choice. “Greg.”
“That’s good to know.”
I grin, not expecting to for that, and finishing my food first, I tap my fingers in a rhythm on the weathered picnic table. When I realize I’m tapping to folk music, I drop my hand from the table. Rhonda says, “We can walk around some. There are other tents.” Please don’t make me.
“Sure.” I’m still waiting for that decapitation.
Leaving the picnic area, as we walk, dodging people, someone’s fingers weave between mine. Before I yank my hand back, I look to the person now linked to me. Rhonda hesitantly glances up, holding my hand. Astonished by her quiet, unexpected tenacity, I slide my fingers into hers more, surprising myself.
Holding hands, we walk in silence amongst the racket. Despite the garbage music, it’s different being out with someone who is allowed to touch me, or not being fucking repulsed by others who do.
When Rhonda pulls me out of the crowd, still holding her hand, I ask, “What?”
“We can leave.”
I nod, probably way too fast. “Yeah. Okay.” I pull her with me to my truck, and th
is time I do open the door for her. When I get behind the wheel, I ask, “Is there anything else you wanted to do?” Just don’t take me to a polka jam.
She shrugs. “I’m sure you’ve had enough of me for one day.” Really? There were times I forgot she was with me. “Thank you for coming here with me, Greg.”
I smile, and even if I hated the music, I say, “No problem. Thanks for asking me.”
When I pull out of the lot and turn onto the street, I rest my arm on the center console and again, Rhonda’s fingers wrap around mine. It’s nice, having skin-on-skin contact with a woman, no matter where, so I don’t pull my hand away. And as I drive, I even move my thumb over hers, and several times, Rhonda’s breathing loudly heightens. I’m kind of proud that I’m good at something, even if it’s nothing. So when it happens, I squeeze her hand, making her do it again.
More silence, but it’s not as awkward even if we’re holding hands when I didn’t want her to get the wrong idea about this so-called date.
Arriving at the office’s lot, I put the truck in park, and since she’s already outside, I walk over to her car, where she’s standing. The empty lot is creepy at night, even with the lights overhead. Aside from the horrific music, this is the worst part of tonight. I feel like I’m obligated to kiss her, but this isn’t a normal, romantic date. It’s... I don’t know what the fuck it is.
I clear my throat, trying to think of a slick way to end tonight without being a total dick. “I, uh, It was...fun.” So are some funerals.
Rhonda is quiet as she steps forward. But then she puts her hands on my cheeks and lands her lips on mine. I’m fucking speechless, not just from being literally wordless during a kiss, but I have no words for the shockwave surging through me.
Her lips are cautious, but then in a flash, they demand something from me. Probably because I still haven’t moved.
But since Rhonda has put herself at my mercy, and knowing it’ll crush her if I don’t respond at all, I kiss her back. Not for long. Just long enough to show I was present for her today. Her fingers on the sides of my face grip me tighter, and I gently pry them off me and step back. Goddamn. I was not expecting that.
Again, clearing my throat as we both catch our breaths, I stammer, “Yeah. Um... Bye, Ronnie. I guess I won’t call you.” Why in the hell did I insinuate that I would call her if she had a phone? And I fucking smile at her, saying that shit! I’m losing my damn mind.
With a huge smile back at me, she softly says, “Bye, Greg.”
Still shocked to hell she kissed me, especially like that, I lean against my truck as I watch her leave, unsure of what to think. When I realize I’m standing in an abandoned parking lot at my place of employment, staring at a tree, I shake my head and check my watch. Having to meet Simone for another faux date, I get into my truck, feeling like a damn gigolo for hire.
Heading home, I take a quick shower, washing off the folk music but still thinking about Rhonda’s surprise kiss. It stirred things in me. I just don’t know what.
CHAPTER 18
Gregster,
You’re still not listening to a damn word I say. I know you, little brother. To prove me wrong, blowing every fucking thing I said out the window. I will admit, you probably took a couple steps forward only to tumble ass-backward down a hill and into rush-hour traffic. I want to see more steps forward. And more staying away from Eden’s (what a coincidence) apple. It’s tempting to eat, but it’ll ruin you, Gregory Richard. Nothing good will ever come of you plucking the Forbidden Fruit. You’ll get hurt, and I’m not even there to complain about your whining.
E
Closing the book, rolling my eyes, I drop the diary onto my nightstand. Damn wench.
For this date, I’m wearing my recently torn True Religion jeans and a 311 shirt. No need for inflated pageantry for Garrison or a dive bar like Jake’s.
Before leaving my room, I spray Chrome on me as I hear a knock at the door. I hope this night goes fast and she gets her manwhore. Or she doesn’t, which would be better for her in the end. Not that I care.
Answering the door, I again see a Simone I don’t recognize. She’s ramped it up with her hair curled and darker makeup on her eyes. Her dangerously plunging red tank-top type of shirt displays a long necklace chain between her tits, and with her short, black miniskirt, she’s astounding torment.
Swallowing, despite my tight throat, I nod to the living room. “You’re...early.”
“I guess I am.” When Garrison walks into the living room, her perfume swirls around me. It’s an edgier one than she usually wears and it lingers heavier.
I laugh, adjusting a couple of the little beads on my black bracelets to avoid staring at her. “I think I’m underdressed.”
Her hands slide up and down the sides of her skirt. “Why? Should I change? Is it too much?”
“No. You look...” I frown as I choose my words. “Tesco will be eating out of your hand. Or wherever you want him eating from.” Christ. I should’ve grabbed a thesaurus instead of winging it. Knowing I sounded stupid, I grab my wallet and keys from the coffee table.
“I hope so. If not, maybe somebody will notice.”
“You’re hard to miss.” And I suddenly hate that. Jake’s crowd isn’t exactly chivalrous.
When I look at her, I accidentally stare too long. “Greg? What?”
“Don’t you think you should wear a jacket? It’s fall. You can borrow one of mine.”
Simone smiles. Her lipstick is darker than usual too. “I think I’ll be okay, Dad.”
“I’m just trying to help you out. And I’m older than you by like six years. We at least have a Christian Grey and Ana Steele thing going on here.”
“Jesus.” She giggles and her blonde curls bounce. “Are you going to tie me up, then?”
“No,” I answer, losing my smile. “Anyway. Don’t say I didn’t warn you about a jacket.”
“I won’t. I have money in my pocket with my ID. I’m good to go.” She grins, and I make a face at her as we go out the door.
When we round the balcony corner, Flo is perched in her doorway, smoking a cigarette. Of course, she is. The chilly night air blows her smoke our way, and I immediately wish I had a fucking slingshot to take her out. Seeing Garrison next to me, Flo straightens, and her glare is ready for Simone. Flo moves out of the doorway, blocking me. Wearing a housecoat with a corset and tiny shorts underneath, the hideous contradiction will haunt me for years. She sweetly says, “Hey, honey. You have plans tonight? You should stop by. It’s always a treat when you do.”
Garrison, a few steps ahead, reluctantly turns around, giving me a disgusted side-eyed look toward Flo. Nevertheless, Simone walks back to my side, and I notice the high-heeled black suede boots she’s wearing, drawing attention to her legs. They’re fucking outstanding. And all to impress Officer Man Meat. What a waste.
I turn to Simone, asking, “Do I have plans tonight?”
Simone shrugs, looking over the balcony, not commenting, which is fucking weird. Flo asks, “Is this your...girlfriend?”
“Tonight she is.”
Simone’s mouth opens to respond, but she still stays quiet. Flo looks Simone up and down, sizing up her competition when there is absolutely none. “You’re getting ripped off.”
Simone grabs my arm, resting my bicep between her tits and damn if it’s not hot. “Oh, no way in hell. With two fucks he got a free blow job.” Flo gasps, and if she were wearing pearls, she’d clutch them. “And I’m phenomenal at sucking cock. He’ll be dry for days, but with a huge smile.” Simone licks her lips, and I almost beg her to give me that deal for real. “Tastes like a milkshake.” She grabs my hand and yanks me toward the stairs.
I wave at a seething Flo. “Don’t wait up!”
Giggling, Garrison holds onto my hand all the way down the stairs and to my truck. When we’re inside of it, she says, “Holy fuck. Do you think she believed me?”
I laugh. “Yeah. She threw her barely smoked cigarette on the ground. She�
�s definitely pissed.”
“I almost grabbed your dick in front of her.”
I shrug. “She would’ve loved that.” I know I would have. Goddamn it.
“I wasn’t going to say anything to her at all since you didn’t want me to help you at the gym.”
“That was different.” I sigh, starting the truck. “Look, I shouldn’t have... I know you were only trying to help me. Thanks.” I glance at her as I back of the space, but my gaze falls to her tits, on display, courtesy of the parking lot lights. I grip the steering wheel tighter, thinking of her naked in my bathroom.
Turning onto the street, Simone grins. “Anytime.” She then sighs, and quieter, asks, “How was your date with Rhonda?”
“Weird. It was a damn folk festival.”
Simone laughs. “Really? That’s fucking perfect!”
“Thanks a lot.” Her exposed skin glows beneath the passing street lights, and I could stare for hours if I didn’t care about crashing.
“Did she talk?”
“Yeah. She even kissed me.” As I stop at an intersection, Simone’s legs mesmerize me. Getting hard thinking about them spreading open, I force myself to watch cars driving by.
“She did?” I look over at Simone, seeing her wide eyes.
“Yeah...” I trail off, now thinking about how different Rhonda and Simone are.
Simone sighs, muttering something but doesn’t elaborate, so I don’t ask.
We don’t have a long drive to Jake’s since it’s practically across the street. As I park, I notice Wilder’s red SUV near the entrance. Sighing, already hating this fake date, I meet Simone on the other side of my truck, and as we start to walk, I grab her hand, interweaving our fingers. When she gapes at me, I say, “For appearances. We have roles to play.”
“Oh. Right.”
Walking into the dimly-lit bar, the alcoholic floor is sticky, and the air is hazy with drunken debauchery. There’s a clearing in the middle for a dance floor, which is currently occupied by a handful of AA rejects. The bar is divided into two sections, one for sinning, the other for winning, containing three pool tables. My aunt Amy’s bar in Durham is bigger and cleaner than this place, and she’s a crazy broad. I don’t know why Wilder and Tesco like this dump. At least the music playing is current and not goddamn banjos and accordions.
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