Parties (Girls Weekend, #2)

by C.M. Nascosta

The prospect of climbing the steps to his apartment was agonizing to contemplate, but his bed was calling and he’d gladly spill the blood of anyone who kept him from its confines that weekend. Spill it. Drink it. Bathe in it. All of the above.

"Bluebell, don’t pretend you don’t love butterin’ this big ol’ biscuit. You think I’d be able to keep your side of the bed warm with a flat ass? This space heater does all the heavy lifting." "This space heater is going to get a slap once these shorts are off." Lurielle looked up to see a lascivious smile stretching his broad features, chocolate eyes sparkling, and drew her hand back in warning. "You’re just threatening me with a good time now."

"Yeah, well, I love cake too, and there's a sexy lil’ cake in the kitchen that I can help myself to any time the cake desires. I can live happily with cake. You can keep your ice cream." "I feel like I’m both the cake and the ice cream in this metaphor, and if I have to be a food, I’d rather be cheese. You’re making this very confusing."

His cost of entry is . . . you don’t ask questions you don’t actually want to hear the answer to. If the question is how far can you fuck around, the finding out is not worth the fuckery that precedes it, and the boys at the bar learned that tonight.

"Sorry about that. Sometimes it's not easy being the filling in a friend sandwich, especially when one of the pieces of bread is determined to pick fights with the other. In this case, the piece of bread doing the picking is a piece of bread. And the piece of bread she's picking on is actually a switchblade. I am just an innocent pickle, trying not to get knifed."

another few minutes, and let me drain this dragon. You know I love all of your big feelings and how much hard work you've been doing on yourself, and I want to give any topic you want to talk about my utmost attention, but right now all I can think of is filling you up. So why don’t you slide off and get on your knees, and let me remind you why it doesn't make a deadly bit of difference what anyone else thinks of us."

but after a lifetime of being told what to do and how to look and what to think, her field of fucks to give was barren.

"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."

"You're my heartbeat, Silva. You're the pulse in my chest and the blood in my veins. You want to rip me open, dove? Take a bite out of my heart? It already belongs to you, so you can do as you wish, and it doesn't matter what you call me. You’re the only reason for breathin', and if you come to your senses and kiss me goodbye in the morning and then put me out of your mind, it won't change a thing. It won't change what you are. You'll always be mine, Silva. That doesn't mean you should want me as yours."