What was it about women and crying that made me feel like crap? They must have guilt pheromones in their tears.
I wanted to find a nice quiet spot, go to sleep, and dream about kittens.
Hell, yeah, Ryland. Man up and carpe girl.
I felt a smile on my face. "Thanks." "For what?" "Using my name instead of calling me a thing.
Despite the weight of the world on my shoulders, the temptation to stop and smell the supernatural roses tugged on my sleeves a time or two.
Can I finish my blasted story? We'll get to supernatural kindergarten later.
Great. I guess you're the dog whisperer, vampire edition.
