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Her body was tight and muscular, but she was the definition of feminine.
His chest had been clad with leather. Long locks of gold had hung down his back, but Apollo was the manliest man I had ever seen.
What would a Lowe do? My father would always say that before a big battle. And I’d respond. “We would fight.”
I sat down in an armchair that felt way too feminine to be in a room with two gods who weighed upward of two-sixty pounds in solid muscle.
Women were so serious about being independent and strong. “Fierce” was the new buzzword. We were meant to be women who could stand on our own two feet, women who didn’t need a man. When in truth every single one of those independent females wanted men to validate them as such.
Catina reported to Tina, a woman who had PMS three weeks out of the month.
“Don’t be so uptight all the time,” she said. “Let loose, and sleep with your hottie another time.”
“Lowes don’t quit,” I said, thinking of the words my dad had taught me when I’d been a child.
