That Time I Got Drunk and Yeeted a Love Potion at a Werewolf (Mead Mishaps, #2)

by Kimberly Lemming

Potatoes are by far the most versatile crop. You can fry them up, bake them, or throw them at undesirable men who refuse to leave you alone. At least, that’s what I enjoyed doing with them.

With the force of every woman tired of broke men’s audacity, I yeeted the drink straight at Jack’s head.

Fallon handed me the potion and motioned to Balabash. The orc nodded and stepped on Jack, who was attempting to crawl away. The farmer’s chest met the cobblestone street with an ungraceful thump.

“Um, Felix?” The blond lifted his head and brushed a curl out of my face. “Yes, love?” “Oh, boy.” His look of hopeful reverence gave me the sinking feeling that I was about to kick a puppy. Not a great night for me. “So, not sure if you heard,” I began slowly. “But it looks like a love potion has struck you. I’m sorry, but I’m not your mate.” “I disagree,” he said simply. “Sorry, did you miss the part about the love potion?” “Yes, beloved, I can hear just fine. I just disagree.”

“But darling, my heart!” I teased, clutching at my chest. “I’ll die without your love and affection.” “You’re gonna love my foot in your ass,” she whispered under her breath. “What was that, Lamb?” “Ignoring you!”

“Is your tail wagging?” I asked. “No.” The thumping stopped.