Rosé Buds by Tiffany Swank ((S)exclusive extract)

Tiff Swank has got it all, only the universe hasn’t decided to give it all to her just yet. But she’s a fighter and she’ll work as hard as she can to get it. And by work she means being an absolute superstar and attending the best parties their are in Dublin City (southside obvs). If this opening chapter doesn’t get you racing to the shops to by the full book than you probably have a screw loose and most likely need a wash too.

Chapter 1
The Morning After

I don’t know how gay lads do it. I’ve enough trouble getting jizz out of my bed and hair after a nocturnal romp with ONE erupting cock. They’ve to clean up from two. And that’s at least. Most of them have a general admissions policy on their beds. Chat to any queer, jiggling his denim hot-pants-ed arse on a dance floor, and they’ll tell you that if they bring home just one lad they might as well as be wanking solo.

Himself from last night had bolted pretty much after our entwinement. And that’s fine with me. He was nothing special. I like big men. This was a boy. It’s like eating an egg when you really want a cooked chicken. But food is food and girl ya gotta eat.

I doubted there was anything in the fridge. I was supposed to do the shopping yesterday after work but being a wicked alco bitch I just went to Liza’s, my mate’s gaff, with three bottles of rosé. And bubbles destroy troubles. We changed into something less dull and zigzagged to the club, Bernardo’s. We’d been going there since our tits were big enough to impress the doormen. Bernardo’s is like a home for me. Some culchies would be all onion-breathed in exclaiming Croke Park their home. But for me and the girls, it’s Bernardo’s. Remember that show Cheers and they’d say the pub is where everybody knew your name. Well in Bernardo’s everyone knows my name, what I drink and for the half of them, what me minge and hole look like.

Liza is a beast of a woman. Don’t get me wrong she’s a total slut and an excellent pal but she’s built like a carnival strong man. I’ve seen her lift bar stools over her head and fling them at a gang of cowards that called her a cow. That’s a real woman, someone that can fight their own battles. Just a fyi, if you want to avoid a conflict with her just always buy an extra portion of chips “for the table”. But I love her to bits and pieces. And we’ve made a pact that if we’re both still single in ten years time we’ll les up as a pair a gash hounds. It was supposed to be a joke but she’s taking it seriously. She’ll sometimes not shower or shave and wear them caterpillar boots. Cool the jets hun, we’re not dykers yet.

Saturday mornings always made me feel like a tampon machine in the ladies that’d after been kicked to shit to ruffle the coins out of it. I felt spent and hollow. I rifled the bed for my phone, I wanted to text Liza to hear about the narrow rip of piss she brought home last night and guilt her to call over here with remedies and pizza. And what’s more, I wanna tell her all about the goss from last night. It’s Earth-Shattering! I don’t know much about politics or science but what I know about who is who in Dublin and this IS A GAME CHANGER! That cow will not want to miss this. No one would!

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