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Tough Love

Girl, you cannot make your old or new or future booty call your husband.

Girl, it will not happen.

You'll end up hurting your own feelings if you try, Girl. You are delicious, but you're a late night kind of tight. He does not want to paint your toenails. He just wants to paint your body with his cock, a couple of hours a week.

Boy, it's the same thing as making friends with that pretty young thing, patiently waiting for the right time for your in.

Quit checking your watch, Boy, it is  never going to be fuck o'clock for you two.

You're a great, you would most certainly love her right but you were friend-zoned within ten seconds, that'll always be the truth. No matter what you do, you can only hope for a fluke. Till then, you can listen to her fuck her boyfriend.

So let me tell you what you have to do, the both of you:

You find somebody who looks like somebody who you're in love with who clearly doesn't love you.

After you give up, you'll probably fall in love.


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'Hope, you don't have to use it on your wedding night.'

She handed the pistol to Hope, right after the vows, right before the reception.

'I'm just kidding, darling. Don't worry. He's a good man. You did well sweetheart. He's a good man. You'll be fine.'

Hope's paper-thin smile tried to grow as she stared at her grandmother's reflection in the mirror. The mother-of-pearl grip sparkled in her grandmother's hand, bathed by the Chapel's cheap buzzing lights.

'There's a bullet for you, just in case.'

Hope had left the gun on the table.

A week earlier, drunk off self-pity, she had taken it out of its case and walked to the kitchen, where she stuck the barrel in her mouth and proceeded to take pictures of herself to send to Ray.

In a rare instance of good fortune, her phone ran out of battery before she could indulge her sense of pithy revenge. She woke up and pried open her tear-salted eyelashes then made sure to delete an…