Katrina

"And don't think that just because I like Cupid, you're out of trouble, mister," I tell Miles, my head leaning against his muscular arm, proving that my words are just words.

"I wouldn't dare think that, Kitten," Miles replies, kissing the top of my head as he attaches the pamphlet to the small clipboard and takes the top of the pen.

"What's that even for?" I ask, pointing toward the paper, trying not to slur my words as I do so.

Maybe I should've slowed down on the champagne. My face is already flushed, and the top of my nose feels like it's burning. But it tasted soo good. I don't normally like champagne, but this must be a special variety made by Cupid or one of the other magical...divine...whatever you want to call them beings. The champagne tasted like a marshmallow-coated strawberry dipped in chocolate, and it was so smooth it went down my throat like water. I'd already had two glasses in less than half an hour, and Miles had already poured me another. As tempted as I was to dri