“Zach - "Yes. And Tigers. And mountain lions. There's an array of shifters."
Sara - "Bunnies?”
“Angelina leaned forward as Sara pulled Miki back to her, "You know what they say about curiosity? That it stabbed the annoying biker girl over and over and over again until she spit up blood.”
“Zach shoveled another spoonful of Fruit Loops cereal with milk into his mouth. “It is not possible!”
“How do you know? Just because there’s no proof to prove it, there’s no proof to disprove it either.”
“You’re trying to make me crazy, aren’t you?”
“Not at all.” Sara put her bowl down. “I’m just saying there could be bunny shifters.”
“There are no bunny shifters!”
Shaking her head she accused, “You’re a bunny bigot.”
Zach threw his spoon back in the near-empty bowl. “And there is no such thing as bunny bigots.”
“You sniffed her ass, didn’t you?”
Conall didn’t even bother hiding his grin.”
“I'm a whore!"
Miki hit the brakes...her hands.. gripping the steering wheel, glanced at Sara. "You're not wearing any underwear, are you?"
Sara let out a strangled squeal...”
“Forget he never wanted this in the first place. Forget he was convinced she might be clinically insane and definitely feral. The bottom line was, she ran. She didn't even stop to shower. She woke up, saw Zach lying next to her, and took to the Texas hills. Not a good sign when one was just starting out in a relationship.”
“I’ve found it’s never the animals you have to worry about, Miki. It’s the humans.”
“I swear, Santiago! You are an idiot!"
"I'm only trying to help you along. The guy is all over you and you need to let him know your're interested before some other biker slut, such as yourself, snaps him up with a well-timed blow job.”
“Do you ride?"
She smiled, her fingers lightly sliding around his ear. "Not since I hit that barn"
Zach’s hands paused on her flesh. "You hit a barn?"
"I had to avoid the cow”
“Miki burst into laughter while Angelina looked validly concerned. “Sara, honey, you’ve got to let your toy go.”
“Hey!” Zach snapped.”
“She took two steps to the left. He shadowed her. She took three quick steps to the right. He did the same.
“You…you’re…” She couldn’t even think straight.
“I need you to remain calm.”
“Fuck you!”
“That’s not calm.”
“Good.” She seemed relieved, “They’re here.” She stood up and
walked to the front of the parking lot just as four beautiful, tricked-out Choppers, all manned by women, pulled in and halted next to the girl.
“Check it out.” Angelina elbowed her friends, “Lesbians. In Texas .”
“Conridge leaned across the table and touched Conall’s arm. “I wouldn’t worry.” She motioned toward her husband. “I stabbed him in the leg and set his Mercedes on fire before I agreed to marry him. She just needs time.”Conall frowned. “Uh…thank you?”
“So, what happened to your face?”
Sara grabbed Miki by her T-shirt and jeans before she could dive over the counter at the Asian girl they called Kelly.
Angelina leaned forward as Sara pulled Miki back to her, “You know what they say about curiosity? That it stabbed the annoying biker girl over and over and over again until she spit up blood.”
Oh, yeah. That was subtle.”
“Zach glanced out the window to what had to be the quietest town he’d ever been in. “Big gang problem around here? Lots of cow jacking?”
“We have all sorts pass through our little town, thank you very much. Bikers. Cowboys. The always dangerous rodeo clowns.”
“Rodeo clowns?”
“Don’t ask.”
Zach shrugged. “I don’t want to know.”
“Any other condescending questions about my town?”
“Oh, I’m not being condescending. I’m very interested in your tiny little town, with its tiny little people. I bet you guys even have a movie theater.”
Sara barked out a laugh. “You certainly are a charmer.”
“You're trying to make me crazy, aren't you?"
"Not at all." Sara put her bowl down. "I'm just saying there could be bunny shifters."
"THERE ARE NO BUNNY SHIFTERS!"
Shaking her head she accused, "You're a bunny bigot."
Zach threw his spoon back in the near-empty bowl. "And there is no such thing as bunny bigots."
"Bunny bigot," she accused again.”
“What are you lookin’ at me for? I’m a ray of fuckin’ sunshine.”
“I looked around for that welcoming light I'd heard about, but I didn't see it. Instead, everything around me seemed to glow and shimmer in the sunlight. I heard beautiful sounds-not the voices of dead loved ones, but the laughter and singing of my children when they were tiny. I saw James, young and shirtless, chasing them through Mama's garden. Off in the distance I saw Barbara Jean and Clarice, and even myself when we were kids, dancing to music pouring out of my old pink and violet portable record player. Here I was with my fingers brushing up against the frame of the picture I'd been painting for the last fifty-five years, and my beautiful, scarred husband, my happy children, and my laughing friends were right there with me.”
“We wanted to be accepted by our fellows, especially the influential natural leaders among us; and the ethos of my peers was – until my last year at Oundle – anti-intellectual. You had to pretend to be working less hard than you actually were. Native ability was respected; hard work was not. It was the same on the sports field. Sportsmen were admired more than scholars in any case. But if you could achieve sporting brilliance without training, so much the better. Why is native ability more admired than hard graft? Shouldn’t it be the other way around?”
“Is this flesh of yours you? Or is it an extraneous something possessed by you? Your body—what is it? A machine for converting stimuli into reactions. Stimuli and reactions are remembered. They constitute experience. Then you are in your consciousness these experiences. You are at any moment what you are thinking at that moment. Your I is both subject and object; it predicates things of itself and is the things predicated. The thinker is the thought, the knower is what is known, the possessor is the things possessed. "After all, as you know well, man is a flux of states of consciousness, a flow of passing thoughts, each thought of self another self, a myriad thoughts, a myriad selves, a continual becoming but never being, a will-of-the-wisp flitting of ghosts in ghostland. But this, man will not accept of himself. He refuses to accept his own passing. He will not pass. He will live again if he has to die to do it. "He shuffles atoms and jets of light, remotest nebulae, drips of water, prick-points of sensation, slime-oozings and cosmic bulks, all mixed with pearls of faith, love of woman, imagined dignities, frightened surmises, and pompous arrogances, and of the stuff builds himself an immortality to startle the heavens and baffle the immensities. He squirms on his dunghill, and like a child lost in the dark among goblins, calls to the gods that he is their younger brother, a prisoner of the quick that is destined to be as free as they—monuments of egotism reared by the epiphenomena; dreams and the dust of dreams, that vanish when the dreamer vanishes and are no more when he is not.”
“Wh-wh—“ Victoria tried to say, “What are you doing?” but the words would not come. Fear had seized her and would not let go.
I am going to die, her brain recited calmly. I am going to be stabbed until I am dead. How infuriating. I have so much left to do.”
“There's more to love than two pelvises in a tussle.”
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