She poured herself two fingers of bourbon—not because she needed it, but because the glass felt good in her hand—and sat in the middle of that giant sofa, her blonde hair catching the low light.
The evenings followed a rhythm she’d perfected over two years. Drinks at seven in the living room, where people could sprawl on the giant sofa or lean against the massive brick fireplace. Dinner at eight-thirty, served family style so that conversation flowed across the table like a river. Then, after the dishes were cleared, the entertainment began. big ass mature blonde
Sophia had discovered that most social gatherings were designed for people who wanted to shrink. Cocktail parties with no place to sit. Dinner parties where the portions were architectural rather than satisfying. Concerts where you stood on concrete for three hours because “general admission” was somehow considered a perk. She poured herself two fingers of bourbon—not because