What. The fuck. What. The fuck.
Molly Carpenter --20, Sagittarius, apprentice wizard-- staggered to a stop 5 blocks from the Dresden mancave.
She leaned against a streetlight heart pounding as though she’d been running from an ogre of, shall we say, modest proportions and below-average orneriness. She sent a quick prayer heavenwards:
. For if ever there was proof of benevolence above, surely this must be it. Her very
felt on fire with the shock of delight.
Of all the amazing things! She wrapped an arm around the lamppost and closed her eyes, awash with a delirium of images, out of which her favorites would cycle to the top again and again.
Harry's gorgeous electric lankiness, better than she could've ever imagined-- those knobbly vulnerable hipbones, and a soft-eyed smoulder she'd never seen on him before.
Jeez, even just remembering that look made her dizzy with longing. And then-- and
!-- motherfucking Mr. Badass himself, Johnny Marcone, with his solid, sexy-older-man thing going on --
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