What am I doing? This isn’t real. I’m not a slave to the night. I’m just not. I’m not one of them. I don’t even know this Johnny, and I’m married to him just because I said yes, in a club, drunk out of my wits? We’re not married—not really. This whole thing is farce. I’m deranged. Of all the thin...
A cool ocean breeze greeted her. “Ah.” She took a seat on the old rocking chair in the living room. “Chinese food for breakfast?” Ron stood behind her, rocking the chair with one hand. “It was just so good; I couldn’t resist....