Parties (Girls Weekend, #2)

by C.M. Nascosta

Restlessness was only a part of the problem, she contemplated, a symptom of a larger cause. Ris felt as if she were stuck in place, like she was spinning in mud, sinking a bit further with every day, every week that passed . . . but worse than desperately wanting something just out of her reach, she didn’t know what she wanted, a far worse affliction, she’d determined.

hoping she’d not blame the entire table for the transgressions of one, for it wasn’t a good idea to make enemies with anyone in accounting.

The sun was already beginning to set, earlier and earlier as the winter solstice approached, and it sat in a raspberry smear at the roofline of Cambric Creek's downtown, the encroaching indigo sky spreading overhead. She wasn't entirely sure why her eyes pricked with tears, because she was certain she was happy, and then she thought that perhaps that was why — because she was happy.

She couldn't make him responsible for her happiness, she already knew that, but he was a good reminder that she liked herself — she was smart and interesting, and wasn't afraid to do things on her own.

She wasn't going to fit in with Khash's family because she didn't fit in anywhere.

"After all, everyone knows the only path to body acceptance is to find a dick to ride, right?" The goblin had sputtered and she'd turned on her heel, regretting her words instantly, even if she didn't really. She loved Khash, loved their life, loved their love . . . but she loved her house and her job and her dog and her freedom, things she'd achieved on her own which were somehow negated now that she had a partner.

We all have choices to make in life, and I'm happy with the ones I've made. They led me to you."

I'm an only child, I was a latchkey kid. I've always had a lot of friends, but very few I could actually count on to be there when it mattered,

That’s it then? You’re not going to introduce me to the rest of your friends?" "Silva, I like feral cats, very small children, and very old men, and that’s about it. I’m not sure where you think I’d find the extra hours in the day to cultivate the habit of being a social butterfly, but I’m sad to have to inform you I’ve neither the time nor inclination to do so."

He'd never told her how he'd come to acquire them, but now she wanted to know. She wanted to know everything; wanted to climb into his skin, wanted to examine and analyze his memories, and nothing less than all of him would do.