Heather M. Orgeron

He hangs his head. “Look, we were both drunk and horny, and while the location may not have been ideal—”

“It was a dumpster.”

He clears his throat, and it takes everything in me not to recoil from the spittle that lands on my cheek.

“And you like…put makeup on dead bodies?”

“They don’t bite,” I assure him.