Wicked Game

I’m a morning person and a night person. So I have to be a nap person, or else I’m a tired person.

Aw, he’s shy. How loveable, huggable, stuff-in-a-bag-and-take-home-able.

I'm more of a dog person. But I admire cats and their ability to take so much while giving so little.

Parents, preachers, and politicians think rock music is the source of young people's despair. They don't understand it's just a reflection. They also forget that music can be a source of hope, a reason to live.

Ignorance is the world's most curable affliction.

Daytimers. Sunnysides. What do you call us behind our backs?" "Dinner." This shuts me up until we reach my door.

They examine me like I’m a cow at a 4-H auction. I try not to moo.

As he presses me against the car and his fingers tangle in my hair, I find myself hoping-and fearing-that I'll never be the object of such a love, one that could bring a man to his knees and never let him stand again.

I open my eyes. Yech, boyfriend thoughts, the kind I haven’t had since I was a teenager. It’s one thing to imagine Shane naked and slathered in olive oil, but another animal entirely to picture us cuddling.

My jaw drops to form a capital O, as in, O Holy Shit.

I had a dog. Ex-wife took him, and the house.” Is that why you like country music?” He eased himself our of the closet. “Huh?” ”Just a joke. Sorry about your dog.

Give me a second to put on something a little less Almost Got Killed In.

Shane closes his eyes and groans deep in his throat, a noise that embodies sex and death. His back arches, and his fingers rake the carpet as if to pull it up like grass.