Just Don't Fall (Sweater Weather, #1; Appies, #1)

by Emma St. Clair

And what kind of name is Mr. Eds? Plural?” “It’s short for Evil Demon Spawn,”

“You’re such an old man.” “Get off my lawn,”

“I didn’t mean to throw you under the bus, Logan.” “In this analogy, are you the bus?”

But as Jeff Goldblum’s character said in Jurassic Park, “Life finds a way.”

Logan shrugs, still with that same tiny smug smirk. A smirg, if you will.

The other day, I saw an older car on Facebook marketplace for two grand. Sure, it was rusted and had a million miles and the muffler was falling off, but it was a CAR.

The phrase I cannot even was literally borne out of some moments like this. I cannot. I cannot even.

I have cramps. A migraine. A sudden and crippling case of vertigo. My nonexistent goldfish died and required a burial at sea. Anything at all to get me out of this.

“It’ll be fun.” About as fun as getting pelted with vinegar-filled water balloons.

Who knew the man had more than one brain cell? There are at least two in there.

It was a close call, but Ed Sheeran was spared. I’m glad because I wasn’t at all looking forward to removing his songs from my playlists after Aaron ruined his music forever.

His hips? They don’t lie. His feet? Not guilty, because they have got serious rhythm. His groove thing? Thoroughly shaken.

Guess I’m into homicidal urges now.

People can live perfectly fulfilled single lives. And those who choose to have cats are of superior intelligence, in my opinion. Cats are independent and brilliant and can display very human emotions. Except for mine, who displays demon emotions.

“Please. I’m an athlete, not an imbecile. I can boil water.”

I’m not sure our books are in the same bookstore.

FOMS (feline of monstrous size)

I have an as yet unproven theory that people who love running are actually some kind of alien race dressed in human skin suits. It’s the only logical explanation.

“Because I want blood.” Okay, then.