Status Updates From Unscrewed (Unraveled Renega...

“Stop making me laugh. I helped you with Morgan that day, but you don’t care. Dick move, Rodwell.”
“And that’s exactly what you grabbed under the table!”
Simone throws out her hands. “It was for effect! I was acting!”
“You were jacking.” And if we weren’t in that situation, and she wasn’t Wilder’s sister, it would’ve felt so good. “And you liked it.”
“Oh, with the tent you pitched, I’d say you liked it.”

“I don’t want excuses. The LSAT is only given four times a year. It’s October. Will you be ready for this month’s test? If not, there’s still December, June, and February. I have some materials you can use to study. The University of Richmond School of Law is a good school and close by. I’d recommend William & Mary—my alma mater—if it weren’t an hour away.”
“William and Mary? Jesus’ parents? They own a school?”

When Simone returns, she tiptoes over to me. Her long T-shirt skims her thighs, and her nipples are hard. “Good job, Greg,” she whispers, leaning over me to take the bottle. Her wet hair sweeps across my face. She smells good—exceedingly good. The heat from her shower still lingers, making her all the more invigorating. What the frig? I can’t be so horny that I lust after Simone Shut-the-Hell-Up Garrison.

When Simone returns, she tiptoes over to me. Her long T-shirt skims her thighs, and her nipples are hard. “Good job, Greg,” she whispers, leaning over me to take the bottle. Her wet hair sweeps across my face. She smells good—exceedingly good. The heat from her shower still lingers, making her all the more invigorating. What the frig? I can’t be so horny that I lust after Simone Shut-the-Hell-Up Garrison.

Dear Gregster,
If you’re reading this, I’m dead. Shocker. I know. I hope you made sure I didn’t look like a clown prostitute in my casket. Mom was always big on trying to make me normal and not the queen of the damned I was. Her normal was most definitely not mine. I swear if she made me look like I hawk Avon, I will haunt your dumb ass.

I try to leave while not looking directly into her eyes, for fear of burning my retinas, but she keeps her hands on my arms, massaging her fingers into me. I’m nauseous. Her pageboy blonde hair is gruesome. Whoever cuts her hair should be stabbed to death with their own scissors and dumped along an isolated highway for vultures to feed on, not that I’ve thought about it.