Epilogue
I got dumped on my birthday. Twice.
Greg said he was tired of being treated like he isn't smart. When I pointed out he isn't smart, he said I was only proving his point.
Sam said I'm a narcissist with a borderline personality disorder. He said he tried to love me despite it, but there was no fixing crazy.
I told him there was no fixing being a dentist either.
Then I fucked my plastic surgeon, which everyone knows is the highest level of doctor on the dating chain.
Last I heard, Sam and Greg are living together—with some girl named Sierra. After I put in all the work to set that up, that bitch rode my coattails onto two perfect dicks. I wish them nothing but light and love because everyone knows that’s the kind of person I am.
Besides, I’ve already moved on to better, more important cock. Cock I’ve worked hard to get and cock I deserve to have.
Light, love and cock. That’s my motto.
My newest release is Good Girl! Check it out!
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About the Author
Jana Aston likes cats, big coffee cups and books about billionaires who deflower virgins. She wrote her debut novel while fielding customer service calls about electrical bills, and she's ever grateful for the fictional gynecologist in Wrong that readers embraced so much she was able to make working in her pajamas a reality. Jana’s novels have appeared on the NYT, USA Today and Wall Street Journal bestseller lists, some multiple times. She likes multiples.
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Cocksure Grin
Whitney Barbetti
Millie thinks all she needs are her chicken pajama pants and sad microwaved nachos until she meets Ben, a man with a grin who is more than just the stranger she thinks he is.
Copyright ? 2018 by Whitney Barbetti All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cocksure Grin
“You are going to become a crazy cat lady if you never leave your house, Millie.”
I groaned and shoveled another microwaved nacho into my face. “I can’t. I’m allergic to cats.”
“Well, I already know that’s a lie.”
“I’m allergic to fun then,” I said. Which wasn’t entirely a lie.
“Come onnnn,” my best friend Elizabeth said, the whine in her voice like nails on a chalkboard. “All you do is sit at home and watch mysteries on the Investigation Discovery channel, in your fleece pajamas, with a sad plate of microwaved food in your hands.”
Mid-chew, I glanced down at my ‘lounge pants’—because that’s what they were called when you were lounging. Just because they had dancing chickens on them did not make them pajama pants. Though, I supposed the same couldn’t be said for my bunny slippers.
But I couldn’t deny she was right about the damned nachos, which were more chewy than crispy so, as far as nachos went, they were pretty damn sad. “But going out means pants, and I don’t want to wear pants that aren’t made of elastic.”
“Going out means skirts,” she told me. “Or, at the very least, a really tight pair of solid-colored leggings. Preferably ones not made from pajama material, if you even have ones that aren’t. Come on, Millie. Your life is sooo boring.”
“I think you’re trying to insult me,” I said, shoving another miserable chip in my mouth. I picked a sharp corner from between my teeth and looked down at my paper plate and the hole in my pants that stretched one chicken’s face wide enough to show my pale white leg. I sighed. “And it’s working, just a little.”
“Good.” I could practically hear her beaming. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
“Fifteen minutes?” I said, pulling my phone away and catching my unkempt reflection on my phone’s screen as I checked the time. “Might want to push it to twenty.”
“One-five. Fifteen. That’s it. Be ready, or I’m dragging you out of your cave, clothes or not.”
Luckily, because I often slept past my alarm clock, I was pro at getting ready in such a short amount of time. Not like, NFL pro level. But like Wednesday night bowling league—at the sketchy bowling alley behind the abandoned motel—pro.
By the time Elizabeth had shown up, I’d transformed from my baggy chicken lounge pants to black leggings that I practically had to grease my limbs just to fit into and a top that covered my microwaved nacho bloat. I gave myself one last look in the mirror as I shoved in the hoops I found under my nightstand in my earlobes. I cleaned up okay, for a Wednesday night after a shit show day at my job.
Elizabeth, though a bit harsh, wasn’t wrong. My life was boring. I guess I kind of owed it to her to try to liven things up. She was one of the few friends I had that actually cared that I subsisted off of terrible instant food and no fun.
“From Amelia to Millie, in fifteen minutes,” she said, giving me a high five when I got into the car. “Proud of you, kiddo.”
I rolled my eyes at her use of my full name and flipped the visor down. While I’d managed to slide my body into constrictive clothing and pull my shoulder-length bob into a messy half up-do, my face still needed a bit of work.
“Don’t put too much on; you don’t need it.”
“I don’t need it?” I asked, lipstick coating my bottom lip. “I thought we were going out?”
“Well…” She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel at the stoplight. “Technically, you are going out, because you left your house.” She gave me one of those bared teeth nervous emoji smiles, and I just knew that she’d conned me right out of my poultry pajama pants.
“Where are we going, Elizabeth?” My tone was less than amused, but a grin curled her lips.
“Just a small get-together. At Finn’s house.” Finn, her boyfriend of the month, who put together dinner parties like he was Martha Fucking Stewart.
“Greaaat,” I said, not feeling great at all about the prospect of subjecting myself to Finn’s antics. “Don’t tell me he invited the guy who spent the last dinner party, begging everyone to fund his start-up.”
“No, not this time.”
Small mercies. “How many other people will be there?”
“You…me…Finn, of course.” She gave me a wide grin. “And Finn’s friend from college.”
I winced. “Oh god. Is this like a double date or something?”
“No, no.”
Her tone was less than convincing and at my give-it-to-me-straight face, she winced and continued.
“But Finn figured Ben could use some new friends.” At my answering groan, she hurried on. “He just got a new job here.”
“Greaaat,” I said again. I applied the littlest bit of mascara, planning on getting toasted, since Elizabeth was driving me. She always did this—setting me up with her boyfriend’s friends. Just because she was actively dating didn’t mean I needed to be too. I had a busy and terribly boring job and relished my time watching murder mysteries with shitty-tasting nachos. I didn’t need anyone coming into my life, interrupting the flow. Least of all, one of Finn’s likely weird friends. He, like Finn, probably tucked his sweaters into his pants and bragged at least three times every hour about how many miles he could get on a tank of gas in his hybrid.
But I would eat my words, because the moment we pulled into Finn’s driveway, the Columbine Blue convertible parked there made my jaw drop. “Did Finn get a new car?” I asked, even though I knew sensible Finn would’ve never shelled out the kind of dough this car had to have cost.
I hopped out of the car faster than if my ass had been on fire. I couldn’t resist touching it, running my fingers over the glossy paint. Even the inside had been lovingly restored to its original factory state. I had to resist pressing my face to it to see if it was real.