Chapter 5
VIOLET
The Cabernet I drank with Elsie earlier in the evening threatens to come up.
I can do nothing but stare as a brown-haired wall of muscle and Italian tailoring stares in my direction, his almond brown eyes locked on my face.
His own face is perfectly symmetrical, strong and sharp at the jaw. I remember when that perfect face was buried between my thighs, licking at my most sensitive parts, bringing me to o****m more times than all the fingers on my hands could count.
My “Happy Hour” has abruptly become “Throw-up-and-scream Hour.”
Forty minutes after agreeing to meet up with Brett and Elsie for a night-cap, I find myself walking into my favorite Irish pub with my best friend at my side, my pink-painted fingernails digging into the pockets of my red pea coat, a desperat
