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My first impression of him was probably highly similar to others’ first impressions of me—with the caveat that serious, unsmiling men tended to be considered consummate professionals, while serious, unsmiling women were often written off as haughty shrews.
The world was a constant, full-on maelstrom, and my emotions were the one thing I could govern. Eli Killgore looked like the kind of person who’d love to take that away from me.
Her existence, apparently, did a lot for him. More than an elaborately staged erotic show.
Eli tried to imagine a reality in which he didn’t know Rue Siebert existed. The empty misery of it. The sheer relief.
Maybe it was the bed—mortuary slab–solid, just the way I liked.
“Do you have a…sex dungeon?” “I live in Texas, Rue. I don’t even have a basement.”
Rue against the world, out of place and alone and uncomfortable.
