He knew what she wanted, and he wanted it, too; he was ready, but not, despite her gorgeousness, with Tiglah. Tiglah was not worth losing his ability to touch a unicorn.
He graduated law school, but he didn’t pass the bar. No, he stopped in and got drunk.
A year ago he had been in America. Two years ago he had been straight. Tonight he was underground, with the remains of the bogey man, lit by the torches of the children who had killed him.
He was not used to being at a loss. Usually, he was the gentleman with the plan. Every little detail cataloged and put in its place. But now he had no place, and the details were everywhere.
He swatted at her with his book. "Shut up and read, will you?" He lay back down and closed his eyes. Emma glanced over to check that he was smiling, and smiled too.
As she shuffled back, he glanced down at the tent between his legs. Christ, that goddamn thing in there was huge; he looked like he had another arm in his pants.
If, in his pride, he considers God as a challenge, he will deny Him; and if God becomes man and therefore makes Himself vulnerable, he will crucify Him.
God, fate was a sick, twisted bitch. Doomed. He was certainly and absolutely heading straight for the fiery pits of Hell, he realized, as he lusted for his sworn enemy, the vampire.
As he watches the sun rise, what grieves him is that he failed her. He thinks of the terror she felt. They tell him it was quick, as if that will somehow confine the horror.
He cried, almost entire night. He cried alone in his small shed. That was only game that he could play without needing another person to participate.
He had a bad habit of initially zeroing in on one or two things he liked about every new girl he found himself interested in, as if to justify his attraction.
I don't believe there is a God", I said fiercely, "and if there is, He's not the merciful being He's always depicted, or He wouldn't be always torturing me for His own amusement.
He was of the mold from which great men are made. Having said of anything 'Let it be done' he at once felt not only that it was accomplished, but that he had done it himself.
He was responsible for my peaks and valleys, the pulsating waves and earth-shattering releases. It didn’t matter if I was bound or not, whether we fucked or made love, he was in control. The reality was he was always in control.
Maybe we could, um, go sit in the truck?" he said, but even as he said it, it sounded so dumb. And not exactly the way he wanted her to remember a marriage proposal.
Every thing he did was right. Every thing he said was clever. If their evenings at the park included cards, he cheated himself and all the rest of the party to get her a good hand.
He shivered. His coat was thin, and it was obvious he would not get his kiss, which he found puzzling. The manly heroes of the penny dreadfuls and shilling novels never had these problems getting kissed.
They say ol’ man Beach is crazy. And maybe he is. But he goes ahead anyways. He’s the sort of man who knows the only things worth doing are the things might break your heart.
Paige cleared her throat. “Hey, Taylor?” “What?” she snapped. “Um...he...maybe he can help us?” “He doesn’t seem very helpful,” Taylor said grumpily.
He took a moment, as if he were deciding which tack to go with. I think he chose honesty, but it's so hard to tell. And if you chose honesty as a strategy, is it still honesty?
Now what?” he finally asked. Téa came to stand in the doorway of her office. “Now what, what? Hey, is that you, Cal?” “Affirmative.” Affirmative? Was that the cutest or what?
