Stud in the Stacks (Girl Band #2)

by Pippa Grant

I crash into my apartment Thursday night just after nine armed with a quart of fury, three pounds of hopelessness, and a box of organic cheesecake. That’s the absolute last time I try online dating. Yes, yes, I said the same thing after the clown incident, but I mean it this time. The jackass is lucky a broken nose is all he has—if my brothers had been there, he’d be missing a few fingers and viewing the world through the slit in his butt cheeks. And I left work early for this shit.

“Want my brothers to take care of that for you?” “Oh my god, no!” Willow says. “What? They’re not going to eat it. They love dogs. They’d probably get it its own Snapchat account, and they might take it skydiving, but they wouldn’t hurt it.”

Eloise, who’s our drummer, is a pit bull in a toy poodle package, if the toy poodle had dyed its fur black, pierced its tongue, and humped everything that moved.

I eye my taco and beg it to offer a real solution, but it stays silent, because it’s a taco.

“It was a really nice article. Surely the library won’t fire him just because that applehole didn’t confess to being a mean banana.” Either wedding stress has finally pushed her over the edge, or there was another crackdown on cussing at the preschool this week.