TRADING MY CHEATING HUSBAND FOR THE LYCAN KING
The poor guards have refused, point-blank, to come inside — they’re stationed at the door with their backs to the shop, two enormous men staring fixedly out at the street and radiating a desire to be anywhere else in the universe, and every so often Queenie calls out a question to them just to watch them suffer.
“Reyes! Professional opinion! If a man came home to find—” and Reyes, without turning around, says, “I am not paid enough for the rest of that sentence, ma’am,” and Queenie howls.
We toss ideas back and forth, escalating, ridiculous, half of them genuinely funny and all of them genuinely too much, until Queenie, breathless, says:
“Okay, okay, but seriously, what would actually get hi