Dahlia

The pesky sunlight can be felt on my face before I open my eyes. Too bright for a hurting head filled with dreams of men hotter than my husband. And the alcohol? It’s burning in my throat. Like I swallowed a flame… or a cogwheel.

Junie groans and sits up, clutching her head like it betrayed her. "Why the hell did we drink so much?"

She sounds like a chain-smoker, and when I sit up, a burp that’s 100% not ladylike leaves my mouth.

Junie snorts. The bottle ...