Viv:
By the time I stumble through my front door, I feel like I’ve lived three lives and buried two bodies. My heels dangle from my fingers, my purse’s zipper is busted, and the underwire in my bra is actively trying to stab me in the ribs.
Cassie dropped me off with a wave and a laugh, yelling something about getting rest because it was going to be “one of those nights.” That usually means a bachelor party, a blow-up doll, and at least one guy begging us to let him take us to Cancun.
I lock the door behind me and peel off my clothes as I walk, leaving a trail of lace and regret across the hardwood. My apartment’s tiny — a one-bedroom above a diner that smells like pancakes and fryer grease — but it’s mine. And right now, it’s heaven.
The couch is too far. The bed’s closer. I collapse
