The tilt of the glass is exactly how my day fanned out. A few hours ago, I was wishing this day over, now I'm just dreading it finished. “Next question, what is the name of the seventh and supposedly last Harry Potter book?” Victoria drums her hands on the coffee table. Her eyes sparkle when she meets mine. For the past two hours, three bottles of Dom and whatever Amber liquid the guys had downed, we’ve had a temporary truce. One of the few times where we all sat and put our problems aside. Reagan and I are sitting on the Persian carpeted floor across Victoria and Aiden who’s looking painfully serious because he doesn't watch many movies, and I know has never read that book. He prefers thrillers or something you have to c***k your head trying to figure out. Sabastian is on the empt
