Page 47 of Unconditionally Yours
Benji groans. “She’s the HOA president.”
“She’s what the actual fuck?” I ask.
“I know. I know. It’s stupid. I was drunk. It was once. I didn’t even stay the night. I thought it was just.” He runs a hand through his hair, mortified. “But ever since, she’s been reporting me for everything. Noise violations. Lawn length. I got a citation for ‘unapproved holiday lighting’ in July.”
I stare at him.
“She’s committing HOA war crimes because you didn’t call her back after one drunk fuck?” One part of me salutes her villain arc. The rest of me wants her deported from this ZIP code immediately.
He nods helplessly.
“That’s… honestly iconic. I respect the pettiness. But also? She’s dead now. I’m going to kill her with kindness and a blowtorch shaped like a Hello Kitty.”
“She’ll back off now,” he says, eyes trailing down my legs. “She saw… us.”
Us. That’s fucking adorable. I want to embroider it on a pillow and beat her with it.
“No, Benji. You don’t just move on from a dick like yours. Especially not when it’s attached to a walking, talking emotional fantasy with the body of a Roman statue and the soul of a golden retriever. You could break a nun’s will with one hug and a cinnamon roll.”
“I’ve tried to be nice,” he says. “I’ll pay the fines. I’ll fix the porch. I’m sorry.” Then, like an anxious deer presentingpeace offerings, adds, “Do you want cuddles? Or snacks? I have donuts. Maybe garlic Ritz. You can eat me if that’s better.”
I agree to all of the above.
He steps closer, still shirtless, still unfair. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I know.”
His hand brushes my waist. “You made her disappear with just one sentence.”
“She should’ve knocked less.”
His lips twitch. “I really like you, Delilah.”
I look up at his mouth, still swollen from me, and smile like the fucking lunatic I am. “I really like you too.”
Margo thinks she can win an HOA war?
Bitch, I majored in psychological warfare with a minor in fake niceness and slutty vengeance.
Let the games begin.
Journal Entry #4
Sunday August 1st
Therapy Journal
Dear Rhys,
This is a crisis.
Like, I know your hotline receptionist said “sexual confusion isn’t a medical emergency,” but I think she was just jealous and spiritually unprepared for the depth of my erotic metamorphosis. I’m not confused. I am evolved. I have transcended. I have been reborn via dick. Phoenix-style. Wings out. Pussy sore. Please respond.
I think Benji loves me.
No, I know Benji loves me. And worse? I think I love him back. And I don’t mean like, “teehee I heart your face” love. I mean deranged wife who wears your dog tags and burns your enemies love. I mean, I’d bail him out of jail and then blow him in the courtroom hallway right next to a sign that says “No Weapons or Lewd Conduct.”
And Rhys, here’s the real problem:
