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

by Kimberly Lemming

“Jack, have you lost your mind? Did you come here so I could help you find it? I can’t think of any other reason me pelting you with tubers would be mistaken for flirting.”

I never expected to meet my end by an overly enthusiastic orc greeting, but life was an unpredictable bitch.

With the force of every woman tired of broke men’s audacity, I yeeted the drink straight at Jack’s head. Unfortunately for me, that broke man could dodge.

This man was a menace to my heart.

That was disastrous. I’m a giant fucking idiot. It wasn’t bad enough that I’d frightened her into fainting, then prowled around her home like a stalker; I’d also managed to disgrace myself in front of her. The only saving factor was that I was able to run for the hills before I destroyed her outhouse. Damn sensitive stomach. Damn cheese and milk in all its evil forms.

It was then I knew that I fucked up.

I’m married. To a man I met no less than three days ago. A man who holds up the courthouse with a gaggle of merry fucking orcs. “I need a drink.”

I do not know if my tits were built for murder. I don’t even think they were built with my back in mind.

“You are ruining the sneak attack, you dickhead!”

“The only thing running from you is your hairline,”

“You can’t just dump a handful of cayenne in there. You’ll overpower the rest of the bisque, you overzealous twat,”