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For all the goblin girlies who just want to wear sweatpants, drink iced coffee, and get dicked down by hot monsters with fat bank accounts. Same, girl. Same.
Whoever invented tequila shots was a dick. No, not just a dick—a giant, ugly dick who deserved to be pointed and laughed at.
One monster boyfriend wasn’t enough? Drunk-Nicole was desperate enough for dick to request her own harem? Drunk-Nicole was clearly delusional.
“Holy shit, look at that tongue!” Ashley ripped the phone out of her hand and stared. “Girl, you have got to go on a date with him.” “He’s part lizard!” “He can be part gecko and try to sell me car insurance for all I care. Imagine what that tongue could be doing to your bits right now!”
She hated him. With every fiber of her being, she despised that he had ambushed her with his silly dimples and liquid gold eyes. Wasn’t it bad enough that she had to show up looking like a trash goblin who’d just rolled out of bed? No, the wolf had to look like a Greek god come to life.
Murder was illegal, and she would not make it in prison. Maybe if Nicole reminded herself of that every few minutes, she would feel less inclined to start ripping heads off. “There’s no wine in prison,” she muttered under her breath.
“You can wash a dish, old man.” “Old?” Nicole choked on her laugh. She’d never seen a man in a shirt more expensive than her car hiss like a cat before.
Jasper nudged the fae. “Do something!” “Me?” “You’re the sensitive one!” the vampire hissed. “How am I—?” “You’re a vegetarian!” Wes growled. Hawthorne rolled his eyes. “Suddenly being a vegetarian makes me ‘sensitive’?”
It’s a good thing vampires could order their food from a blood bank now. If Atticus and Jasper had to rely on stealth, they would die of starvation.
