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“Are you shitting my dick right now?” West squints at me. “I—no?
“What in the smelling salts waistcoat gentleman shit is that?” “Agreed.” I attempt a British accent: “The lord must find a wife!”
“I can’t wear that,” she says, voice shaking. “Why not?” “That diamond is like… the size of my nipple.”
“Oh!” Anna jerks a hand over her eyes. “Your Goddamn! Right there!” She turns away. “Sorry! I just—spaced out—on your—God. And you’re not even harrrrrrr—Fuck me.” She coughs.
Your last sex was Micah, right? Micah. A waiter at her parents’ café. Very hot. Very unskilled. Yes. Two stars. Would not return.
I have the intrusive thought that I wouldn’t even need to be dared to lick his chest right now. His nipples are… well, I enjoy them. I would like to touch them. Maybe with my boob again.
I absolutely do not look down at his shorts; what kind of a trash goblin do you take me for?
“Imagine we get locked in one of those,” Anna says, “and they find us days later, wearing salami and cheese to stay warm.”
“I guess now is when I tell you the truth,” I say with quiet solemnity. “You may have noticed that I sparkle in the sunlight. That my skin is like marble.” I pause. “This is the skin of a killer.”
I can't with Anna - she's so freaking funny!
“When we care about someone, they deserve the benefit of the doubt. We have to consider not only what they did, but also why they did it. Intent matters,”
“Are you saying you love me, Anna Green?” “I’m saying I love you madly, West Weston.”
