It was spring. Okay, not the warmest spring day ever, but the trees were coating themselves (and everything else) in green and Raven was nearly done with her classes for the semester, and that was good enough for her to be stretched out on one of the chairs on the deck with a pitcher of Arnold Palmer and a novel, mimicking a nice pair of shorts and
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Hey, at least it wasn't out and out grumpy. Possible booze made him a little nicer. A little.
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So far. The world hadn't screwed her over hard enough for her to really start getting nasty.
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That was really about it. It wasn't like she'd have to get caught.
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Anger and meanness and horribleness were a second skin.
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