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I wasn’t one to call people profane names often… but what a fucking bitch.
“What is wrong with you?” “Many things.” “I’m aware,”
“I might be a bitch, but I’m certainly not your bitch,”
“Thanks for the good luck kiss, March baby.” “I hope you break every bone in your body,”
“Don’t be smug. I’m allergic to assholes before 9 a.m.”
“I love you.” He pulled back, whispering against my lips. “That’s a horrible decision on your part, really,” I countered, pulling back with a playful smile.
