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“You’re going to burn in hell,” I muttered. “As long as they have an espresso machine, I’m cool with it.
Thank god for nonsense-stopping kisses.
“Stop talking and start taking my clothes off,” I suggested with a grin. “You can respect me later.”
It was the kind of hug that came from family—the kind that said it knew you felt flayed open and gut shot and were currently held together with nothing more than spit and baling wire.
I hated those fuckers and their stupid-assed unconditional love. Every once in a while it would be nice to be neglected and ignored.
