From the Bookshelf of Fallen Into Tijan Books…

Interviewer: I see. I’m curious about something. Were you fired from each of these jobs or did you quit?
Me: I prefer the term “let go.” Fired just sounds so…mean.
Interviewer: Were you let go, then?
Me: Yes, but I can explain.
Interviewer: I’m listening.
Me: At Harrison and Co. Books, I completely misunderstood the return policy. A simple mistake, really, one anyone could have made. You see, I thought it would be totally fine to take the books home in my bag, read them and return them. You would have thought the same thing, wouldn’t you? That’s what return means.
Interviewer: Well, uh, hmm. What about Jumpin’ Jive Cars? Why were you let go from there?
Me: Well, that’s an interesting story. See, there was an unfortunate accident with one of the cars I borrowed. Totally not my fault. The lady in front of me didn’t signal, and you know how important it is to signal when changing lanes.
Interviewer: Yes, that is important.
Me: Just give me a chance, Mr. uh, uh—
Interviewer: Mr. MacDonald.
Me: I’ll be the best damn, uh, uh—
Interviewer: Maid.
Me:—maid you’ve ever seen. Maid!
@9%

“So where are we going?”
There was an uncomfortable silence for several seconds. Then, “I have a friend,” Rome said hesitantly. “She might be able to help us.”
She? Okay, I seriously didn’t like Rome having a female friend. A twinge of jealousy ribboned through me, and my hands clenched in my lap. I’m petty, foolish and absolutely ridiculous. I admit it. I’m not proud of it. But really, she? She? Somehow, in the last few minutes—yes, minutes—I’d come to consider Rome my property. I didn’t like him having a female friend. After all, men and women couldn’t be friends without sleeping together. Just a fact of life.
@38%

I studied him, searching for signs of damage. There were no red marks, no blisters. It had worked. Ohmygod, it had really worked! Rome had actually taken my fire into himself and completely tamed it. He’d kept it from raging, kept it from hurting anything—or anyone.
We could be together.
We could make slow, languid love. We could enjoy hard, fast, raunchy sex. All without the fear of consequences. Just the thought was enough to reawaken my desire. Soon I’d have him inside me. Completely.
@67%

What frightened me, though, was that as I improved I began to enjoy my abilities. Wielding and controlling such power was heady. Intoxicating, like an addictive drug. A wild adrenaline rush. I started to picture the things I could do once I truly mastered these powers. If someone pissed me off, I could burn off his hair. If someone threatened me, I could ice her home. Who wouldn’t enjoy dishing out that kind of revenge?
I mean, a few weeks ago, I’d borrowed Sherridan’s car for a job interview. Ten minutes into my drive, I’d been pulled over by the most egotistical, I’m-above-the-law cop ever allowed on the force. Officer Ken Parton was his name. As if I’d ever forget.
I hadn’t driven in a long (long) time, so of course my license had expired. Guess what? He arrested me. Yep, the stupid prick cuffed me and hauled me down to the station as if I were a hardened criminal. He booked me and everything. (Maybe my comment about his Dolly man-boobs pushed him over the edge. Who knew?)
So yeah, I now have a record. All because one jerk-off got his jollies from intimidating women. Am I bitter? Hell, yes. If I’d had these powers then I could have drowned that miserable bastard in a hailstorm, could have frozen his balls to his thigh, could have twirled him in a violent tornado.
Note to self: look up Officer Parton when I return to the city.
[...]
I coughed, only then realizing what I’d been doing. Planning to hurt someone. The officer deserved it, sure, but that didn’t make it right.
Damn.
@67%

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