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| [Identity Crisis - by theholyinnocent] |
Fuck it, she thought.
For one night, Serena sloughed off the humiliation of failure, seeking comfort in what she knew: The bar—her bar—and its denizens. There she would find acceptance in a beer on the house, a gentle hand on her shoulder, a sympathetic wince. And later she would attain the state of forgetting while pinned under the body of a beautiful yet familiar stranger, whose hands and mouth traversed her body with astonishing confidence.
And yet, something niggled. “Wait,” Serena gasped.
The groping stopped.
“Is this because I was an ADA?”
Olivia blinked drunkenly. “Whaddya mean, ‘was’?”
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