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.

Absently, I tucked my titties back into my breast band after their daring escape in the night,

“You’re doing this because you couldn’t get bitches?” Alexis asked.

You smell like old cheese and a mother’s regret.”

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