Epilogue
Emery — Eight Months Later
“Heidi, have you seen my black pumps?” I called into the living room.
“Which ones?”
“The closed-toe ones. Roundish.”
She appeared in my bedroom a minute later, holding a pair of shoes in her hand. Curse of living with someone who could pretty much wear all the same sizes as me. Except jeans, because she was a giant compared to me.
“Gimme those.”
I put them on my feet and looked in the mirror at the knee-length black skirt and black top I was wearing with the heels. “How do I look?”
“I’d f**k you,” she said with a laugh.
“Oh God, I hope all the high school boys aren’t going to think that.”
“Um…hell yes, they are.”
At that moment, a knock came from the front door, and I groaned, trying not to think about high school boys wanting to f**k me
