“Ugh…” I groaned, sitting up slowly.
Big mistake.
The world tilted.
Jhing Jhing was sprawled across the couch like a broken action figure, one leg thrown over the armrest, her dress riding up halfway to her ribs.
She had a feather boa around her neck like a battle trophy and one eyelash hanging on for dear life.
Her phone buzzed under her thigh.
Mylene? Poor woman was curled in fetal position under the dining table, murmuring something that sounded like, “Never trust a man with a fake nose and blue necktie…”
Wine bottles were scattered like battlefield casualties.
Empty.
Some half-full. One still sitting in the ice bucket we clearly forgot about halfway through our impromptu celebration.
Lipstick marks on every glass, every corner, and somehow, somehow, one kiss print on the tele
