After the heartbreak, I hit up a bar and drowned myself in drinks.
A few rounds in, I was completely wasted.
Half out of it, I ordered a male escort off some app, mostly because he looked a hell of a lot like that bastard Holden Shaw.
"So, uh, you guys, you know, do you do kissing?"
He looked a little caught off guard but gave me a nod anyway.
Fueled by the booze, I leaned in and pressed my lips to his, all shy and clumsy.
And then, mid-kiss, I just started crying.
"Holden Shaw, that bastard! He wants to have his cake and eat it too!"
The guy holding me went stiff as a board.
The next morning, I woke up and noticed my lip was busted.
Without a second thought, I left that escort a one-star review.
Ugh! What a lousy kisser. Clearly didn't know what he was doing.
After that little
