The Housewife Assassin's Relationship Survival Guide Read Online Free PDF Page A

spine. I love to feel his hands on me. 
    And his arms around me.
    And his cock inside of me.
    The sooner the better, sunburn be damned.
    He must feel the same way, because he’s lifted me up onto my knees.
    Pleasure is his thick thumb and forefinger probing me.
    Longing comes with every kiss: on my lips, down my neck, on my nipples, and roaming down, to my pubic mound.
    His kisses build my expectation. By the time he enters me, the anticipation is unbearable.
    As he pulls me close, I ache with unbound desire and am relieved that I am safely back in his embrace.
    Ecstasy is found deep within me, with each of Jack’s thrusts. When we orgasm, I arch up into him. Our spasms leave him shuddering inside me.
    We lay there for a half hour before he whispers, “I love you, Donna. Always and forever.”
    “Works for me,” I murmur. 
    What I don’t say out loud is that I’ll never doubt him again.
    We’re still sleeping when the plane skids to a stop, back home in Orange County.
    Then reality sets in. The fridge is empty. The laundry is sky high. My children need help with their homework. 
    And Carl is on the loose.
    First things first. Lose the ankle bracelet.
    That’s easier said than done.

Chapter 3
    Six Very Broad Hints You’re Dating a Serial Killer

    When it comes to our love lives, we presume we have great instincts as to whom we should date. Wrong! Here are six very big hints that the new man in your life may in fact wish to cut it short:
    Hint 1: Instead of emails, he sends love letters…but the words are cut out of old magazine headlines.
    Hint 2: He insists on being a gentleman and opening the car door…well, in his case, the car’s trunk.
    Hint 3: Instead of cufflinks at the bottom of his sleeves, he keeps a knife up his sleeve.
    Hint 4: After every meal out, he rubs down his fingerprints on all shiny surfaces.
    Hint 5: All pictures of his previous “girlfriends” are pinned on the wall of his living room, as part of a montage made up of “Missing Persons.”
    Hint 6: He likes to entertain you in his basement, where the grand tour includes a coffin which, as he puts it, “I built especially for you. Go ahead, and get in. I want to make sure it fits…”
    Big bonus hint: Break up immediately.
    Even bigger bonus hint: Run. Fast and far away. 
     

    “Donna Stone, I’ve been ringing your doorbell for the past ten minutes,” shouts Penelope Bing, Hilldale’s queen bee mean mommy, from my front stoop. “What in hell are you doing up on your roof?” 
    I peek out from behind my chimney. “Oh! Um…cleaning the gutters, of course!” 
    It would be too rude to tell her the truth: that I presumed my roof was the only place left to hide from her. 
    It’s been a week since we got home, and still no clearance from the Feds. At the same time, Penelope and her posse—Tiffy Swift, and the unfortunately named Hayley Coxhead—have been relentlessly hunting me down. My guess is that they’re trying to recruit me for one of their many harebrained projects. 
    Just how the heck did she find me? 
    Ah, I see now: Tiffy is waving to me from her upstairs guest bedroom, beside the high-gauge telescope she has set up in the bay window. 
     “Well, come on down. Have you forgotten it’s your month as Hilldale’s Welcome Ambassador?” 
    Whenever Penelope drops her baton of verbal abuse, her number one lackey, Hayley, eagerly picks it up and beats me over the head with it. “We have three new neighbors! None of them have received their welcome baskets. How are they going to know where to shop without a Hilldale Chamber of Commerce directory?”
    I shrug. “Google maps?”
    Penelope shakes her head in disgust. “Donna, you may have been raised without any social graces, but we refuse to let it reflect on the rest of us.” 
    Then I guess a SWAT team holding me spread-eagled on the ground and detonating the welcome basket in case it holds an incendiary device won’t leave a great impression, either.
    But