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February 9 - February 11, 2025
“I’m not asking for permission, Oliver.” “I’m not giving you it, anyway, so what’s the problem?”
“Technically, we are out.” “Fine. Get in.”
“You cannot disinvite me from a party on my own property.” “You’re right. I’m not disinviting you. You were never invited in the first place.”
I wasn’t fond of being treated like a disposable tissue by people, least of all by the woman I once loved, but I was fond of letting her win arguments.
What was the point of having Chris Hemsworth’s body if Briar didn’t want to climb it?
My noodles took a dive down the drain, along with my soul.
“Want some help?” “You could help me by dropping dead.”
“You have no idea what I want, Oliver.” “I think I do.”
“Let’s cut the bullshit. No one here wants you to keep my modesty.”
“Now you have to let me fuck you whenever I want.” “Yes, well, spoiler alert—that was going to happen anyway, and we both know that,”
“Joke’s on you, Ollie. I wanted to lose.” “Watch me be devastated for being taken advantage of.”
I’d met remortgage pyramid schemes more believable than that bull crap.
“Ma’am, I want your forgiveness, not a restraining order.”
“What made you choose today to come see me?” “Honestly? The smell of barbecue.”
“You thaw quickly.” “Thaw?” I buried my face into my hands. “I folded like a beach towel at a five-star resort.”
“Only because your husband made an actual fool of himself to grovel for you. Some of us never got such luxuries.” “What are you talking about? Yours took an actual bullet for you. The dude almost died.”
Zach Sun: If this is about the anal beads jewelry store you wanted to open, I doubt they’d review it. Ollie vB: Someone’s jealous. Romeo Costa: You spelled disgusted wrong.
Ollie vB: JESUS CHRIST. Do women share EVERYTHING? Zach Sun: Save for menstrual pads, I think so.
Nah. You don’t get to use that trope when the girl in question doesn’t consent to being your fake fiancée.
Your whole relationship is one big Stockholm syndrome, my guy. Romeo Costa: We’re a different genre.
Yes. I’m not a fuckboy, like you. I’m an emotionally damaged, dark alpha hero, who just needed a little guidance to fall in love.
Enough to crack open a spine…of a custom-bound Wattpad novel. Do you know what the kids are reading these days? Never mind. Back to the fuckboy.
First of all, I’m a fuckMAN, thank you very much.
Hell hath no fury like a woman caught riding her archenemy’s finger like a cowgirl strapped to the world’s largest bull.
He refused to contemplate what his future might look like, and I respected that. The past was safe.
“Very pretty. Glitter is definitely your color.” “That’s not a color.” “It is today.”
“One upside of the tech revolution, other than filters that make me look two, is the boat load of remote jobs.”
“Can you be more specific? Life has been a theme park of successes and occasions worth celebrating since you kicked me out of your lives.”
“See, this is the point of having a family. You stick it out even when things get tough. You don’t forget about the person and move on with your life.”
“I wasn’t that bad.” “You were, actually. You called me the girl.” “How else was I supposed to call you? The headphone?”
“At least we have cake.”
“What’s the catch?” I topped it with a cherry. “No catch.”
“Please, let me know what you think about my ice cream. It’s a special recipe.” “A special recipe that includes arsenic trioxide and phosgene?”
“Come on.” I pouted. “Where is the trust?” “Not with the woman who painted two dicks on my face with a super-strength Sharpie just last night while I was asleep.”
“It was low hanging fruit. I took a bite.” He gestured to the ice cream. “Well, I’m not taking one until you promise me I’m not going to leave here in a gurney.”
“Can you think of a better cream?” “Yeah, the one in my pants after seeing this,”
“No better time than the present, right?” “I could think of a better time. Namely, never,”
“You are going to drink every drop of my cum when I finally fuck you, aren’t you?”
“Wanting to fuck you has never been an issue, Oliver. I’m attracted to you. It’s your personality I cannot stand.”
Go ahead and order a futon. It’s over.
“Is she teaching us how to sing or how to birth a baby whale the size of an office building?”
Apparently, our instructor was some hot shot.
I always knew I was a horny bastard, but getting turned on by one’s ability to breathe was a new one for me.
Oh, and yes, I was willing to marry Briar if it meant keeping her.
“Unless we’re going to surgically implant Lin Manuel Miranda and Mariah Carey’s vocal cords into our throats by then…”
“I see everything circles back to the trafficked exotic animals you keep in your secret wing.”
I was stupid for this woman. A perfect dumbass. Not a pretend one, this time. For real.
“Did you have a chance to practice your aural skills?” “Twice a day.” I threw a thumb in Briar’s direction. “And that’s on a bad day when she just wants quickies.”
“Honey, for the last time, it’s not about the number of times, it’s about the skill.”
It was impossible, of course. I had a Ph.D. in being crass. No one could out-crass me.
