Chapter 66 Midnight Cravings (1)

I leaned back on my worn-out gray sofa, the dim glow of the TV flickering across my tiny New York living room, casting shadows on the bare white walls. The murder mystery show droned on—some detective yelling about a bloody knife—while I adjusted my black eyeglasses, the lenses smudged from a long day. Smoke curled up from the cigarette between my fingers, the bitter taste lingering on my tongue as I exhaled, watching it swirl toward the ceiling. My faded red pajama set clung to me, soft against my skin, the top hugging my huge tits and the bottoms stretched tight over my soft, plump ass—petite everywhere else, but damn, I knew I carried curves where it counted. The night air slipped in from the cracked balcony door, cool and sharp, mixing with the stale smoke as I stretched my legs out on the coffee table. My place was small—living room bleeding into the kitchen, a single bathroom tucked by the bedroom—but it was mine, minimalist and messy in that chic, don’t-give-a-fuck way. I took another drag, the ember glowing red, and muttered to the TV, “Oh, come on, dude, the wife totally did it.” My voice echoed a little, bouncing off the hardwood floor, the only sound besides the show’s dramatic music.