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A bad attitude and a bullshitter. There could be worse things.
“Mother-trucker biscuit fucker,” I said, a saying my mother had always used when I was in the room and she was trying not to swear. By the last word, she’d apparently given up.
“Ah.” Frank nodded like it all suddenly made sense. “One of those bra-burning feminist types, huh? You don’t need a man. You want to roar. I get it.”
“I am good in a pinch,” I corrected, making up my own mantra. “I am good at surprise-hitting powerful people in vulnerable places. I will. I fucking will!”
With a kiss like his, his prowess in bed would surely blow my mind. He’d be like rich, decadent chocolate. One taste, and he’d ruin me for anything lesser.
“This bitch owns a Burberry, what?” Daisy pointed at me before lifting her hands in the sky. “Watch out, fancy ladies, we all up in your business.”
“Don’t let no dick rule you. You be the boss of you.”
