TRADING MY CHEATING HUSBAND FOR THE LYCAN KING
“I mean, come on, you have to hear it. It is literally right there. The Pennys. The Pennis. That is just a penis. You operate a mystical business as Mr. and Mrs. Penis.”
Both Pennys turn.
In perfect, glacial unison, two pairs of pale grey eyes fix on Queenie with a flat, withering, profoundly unamused stare.
The kind of look that has buried husbands and outlasted dynasties, and the temperature in the shop drops a clean ten degrees.
Queenie’s grin dies on her face. She makes a small, strangled sound. She coughs, her confidence evaporating instantly.