Remember my emphasis on how small of a town Pensacola is? Remember Mr. Roadtrip Rascal? Well, he's back. In Black and sloshed. While enjoying the tipsy 2 o'clock hour, at Seville, the only club in the whole panhandle (okay, I'm slightly exaggerating) someone lanky and completely out of control of their muscular system came into my view. Oh. My. Gosh. It's the dude I went to New Orleans with, Mr. Roadtrip Rascal himself. I don't know what was the most entertaining about this encounter:
"Roadtrip Rascal," I called. "Oh, hey," as he imposed the most uncomfortable hug of my life. "You ignored my wave." Again, ignoring me, he walked away. He not only responded to my text from a week ago, but he had the audacity to drunk dial me. CURVE. curve No dessert necessary.
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AuthorChef Steph cooking up trouble. If she can't find anything real, she bakes real good sweets. Chocolate really may mend a broken heart... Archives
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