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In Vino Veritas
by shipperchick



She was drunk when it happened, her only excuse.

Girls night out, stumbling down the sweltering streets of New York, laughing and crying at once.

She doesn’t remember much; a dim room, an amused proprietor, raucous chants egging her on.

Parker stares at the mirror, rubbing a hand across makeup-smeared skin, praying it was a dream.

The proof is inexorable; cradled just below her clavicle, impossible to hide in summer heat. A rose, petite and perfect, curled tenderly around one word – Jarod.

‘Fuck,’ she thinks, ‘He’ll never let me live this down’.

She wonders why she isn’t more upset.

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