r, and rip him to the ground. He shrieks and hits hard
illion directions. One of the jagged pieces cuts Stefanos'
here,' my friend. The lady told you no. She asked you to keep your hands to yourself, but you did not. So now, I'm putting my hands on you, and I won't stop
lower lip quivers. The cold fear sweat bea
t from off his chest and stand again. I pull my tuxedo cuffs into place as I look down on him from above. "But I
and knees, leaking blood, until he can gather himself back upri
one, I turn
O
My hair is mussed and sweaty and my jaw is aching from biting down so
y direction. He looks like if testosterone had a face. Pure, rippling masculinity. Eyes like preserv
corner, Prince Testosterone and all the rubber-ne
my dress all the way up the back seams. I can feel the cold bree
go
lus one hell of a wardrobe malfunction. I'm a waitress, not a mathem
"You don't have to
to talk, given how hard I'm trying not to
e rest of the night. They can use my arms like a coat rack. The clean-up
hrough the nose, out through the mouth. That sort of thin
"Which part of th
. "The part where you look like you're about to have an
usly hard. For medical reasons, if nothi
nother stitch in
are goi
ever-growing desperation out of my voice. "I'm sure other busy, important men a
"Maybe. H
lawn. "Or there. Or there. Anywhere, really. Lots of people are no doubt extremely eager to ask you
suggestions. "Then they can wait." He inches closer, which
o,
girl cowering
t busy or important in the least, an
at some deities above are listening and will take mercy on me. I'll wear only pants for
ve hears, they s
ll his cologne now. Cedarwood an
feel a few stray eyes drifting in our direction here and there. It's hard to look anywhere but at him,
problem blocking out the whole world to
of it," I promise him. "Seri
ere me, too, I
of a departure in the near-future. "I'll
y bare skin and the tick-tick-tick sound-slash-sensation of more stitches giving way and my ever-growing terror that s
iding. Of running. It's been years of
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