Chapter 3When she answered the doorbell on Saturday night, her stomach doing flip-flops and somersaults like it had ever since she had originally called Acme, Blythe nearly fainted. Not only had her paid escort arrived nearly ten minutes early for the appointment—unheard of, and most assuredly tip-worthy, in her estimation—but he would have been considered not only “a stud” in the eyes of most women, but a “Stud God.”
She couldn’t believe her good fortune, and it took every last ounce of willpower not to play the fool and pinch her arm right there in front of the man destined to be her date. Or more importantly, her “I don’t need you or your ass-wipe family anymore, Dickless, and my hot date proves it” man to save her from weeks or potentially months of unfathomable embarrassment.
She bl
