Good and evil are merely opposite sides of a coin. Get tossed in the air enough, it’s easy to come down on the wrong side.
And you can tell Darroc that Ms. Lane is mine. If he wants her, he can bloody well come and get her.
When he comes, he makes a noise deep in his throat that is so raw and animal and sexual that I think if he merely looked at me and made that noise, I might explode in an orgasm.
As I moved deeper into the room, his gaze dropped to my feet, and worked its way back to my face. I was wearing faded jeans, boots, and a snug pink Juicy T-shirt I got on sale at TJ Maxx last summer that said I’m a Juicy girl. “I bet you are,” he murmured.
Once, long ago in her world, a sunny day in spring was her favorite, but now a sunny day in winter delights her more. It is the perfect metaphor for their love. Sunshine on ice. She warms his frost. He cools her fever.
You want to believe in black and white, good and evil, heroes that are truly heroic, villains that are just plain bad, but I’ve learned in the past year that things are rarely so simple. The good guys can do some truly awful things, and the bad guys can sometimes surprise the heck out of you.
The nerve. Threatening you and not being precise about it.
I like sex for breakfast, kid. I eat early and often.
Never underestimate a well-dressed bimbo.
If I’m a little girl, then that makes you a serious pervert.
Fire isn’t good or bad. It just burns.
When he kisses me again, the last part of me that could stand myself dies.
It’s often only in the lies we refuse to speak that any truth can be heard at all.
I’m sorry your pretty little world got all screwed up, but everybody’s does, and you go on. It’s how you go on that defines you.
Even I don’t know what you’re doing, and I know everything.
I miss her. I don’t know how to live without her. There is a hole inside me that nothing fills. If you don’t find something to fill that hole, someone else will. And if someone else fills it, they own you. Forever. You’ll never get yourself back.
Try a rocket launcher. Think maybe you could manage to hit me with that?
Lose the pessimism, Ms. Lane. It’s a self-fulfilling prophecy.
Bring it on, Tinker Bell.
Kids. Pain in the ass. Don’t know why I ever made them. Hell on relationships.