Tic-Tac-Mistletoe (Hartbridge Christmas, #1)

by N.R. Walker

Yes, cry. A thirty-one-year-old man can cry; shove your toxic masculinity in your cakehole and stop judging me. I was having a jetlag-fuelled shitastic day meltdown, trying to keep my shit together the best I could, and clearly not doing it very well. I was allowed a little saltwater leakage.

“You know that awful cotton wool ball feeling?” He held his arm out for me to help him. “It’s squelchy but dry and it’s like fingers down a chalkboard. Oh my God, it’s so bad.”

I am so glad that I am not the only one who feels that way about cotton balls!!!!!!!