"So this is what the walk of shame looks like."
Jamie groaned at the sound of her sister's voice, thick with amusement.
Aria sat on the couch in the living room in the dim light, fiery blonde hair still effortlessly perfect despite its messiness, a glass of wine in one hand and her phone in the other. The soft glow of the television screen illuminated the smirk playing on her lips.
Without missing a beat, she lifted her phone and snapped a picture.
Jamie barely had the energy to react. She already knew what that picture looked like—hair a tangled mess, lips still swollen from endless kisses, smudged lipstick staining her skin, and the unmistakable look of a woman who had been thoroughly f****d and was damn proud of it.
"Can you ever act your age?" Jamie muttered, too exhausted to care
