Parties (Girls Weekend, #2)

by C.M. Nascosta

Silva loved escaping into the pages of stories about women who weren’t afraid to pursue their happily ever afters, who allowed love to conquer all and found comfort in her preferred genre’s reliability that the couple would always wind up together despite all of the obstacles in their path, no matter how prim the princess or how much of a scoundrel her rake seemed at the beginning.

Oh no, am I Silva...

"Dove, I’ve been at work since six o’clock this morning moving cases of veal in the walk-in, of which there is so fucking much, I’m a bit concerned it came from a minotaur nursery and we’re going to be raided at any moment. I opened every case to make sure there weren’t any wee blankets forgotten inside.

Not an imperfection, she reminded herself as his nose moved over the well of her stomach. Perfect doesn’t exist.

But, she told herself, she couldn’t help her kinks.

She’d miss her own funeral if the grave digger expressed any interest.

I love anthropology and cultural studies.

She sat at the edge of the furniture and attempted to take up as little space as possible, remnants of disordered thinking from childhood that she still couldn't quite shake off. She tiptoed around the rooms, keeping her belongings tight and close together, easily removable, as if her existence in his life could be packed up in a single bag.

Oh, why is this so me???