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“I don’t play games anymore. At least not the kind you remember. Why are you here?”
The pigs laughed at me. I really sucked at this game.
Not her in the middle of spying on people… While playing freaking Angry Birds… I’m literally dead
They say a hundred-and-thirty-pound woman has no chance against an athletic two-hundred-pound man. That’s a lie. You just have to make a decision to hurt him and then do it.
“What is it this time?” I asked. Catalina stabbed her finger in Arabella’s direction. “She never put the cap on my liquid foundation. Now it’s dried out!” Figured. They never fought about anything important. They never stole from each other, they never tried to sabotage each other’s relationships, and if anyone dared to look at one of them the wrong way, the other one would be the first to charge to her sister’s defense. But if one of them took the other’s hairbrush and didn’t clean it, it was World War III.
Sisters smh 🤣
Magic users were divided into five ranks: Minor, Average, Notable, Significant, and Prime.
A pyrokinetic was considered Average if he could melt a cubic foot of ice under a minute. In the same amount of time, Adam Pierce could conjure a fire that would melt a cubic foot of stainless steel. That made Pierce a Prime, the highest rank of magic user. Everybody wanted him—the military, Home Defense, and the private sector.
“He killed a man,” Mom said. “He was framed,” Grandma Frida said. “You don’t even know the story,” Mom said. Grandma shrugged. “Framed. A man that pretty can’t be a murderer.”
Getting him to sit still for longer than thirty seconds was like trying to herd cats through a shower.
☠️🤡
Short term, I was worth more dead than alive.
On one end of the seesaw my family, on the other, possibly my life.
Bad sentence structure “On one end of the seesaw *was* my family. (End of sentence) On the other? My life.” Or some such
Either way.
“Yes,” I said. “You’re a terrible person.” “I’ll just have to live with myself.”
I got up and walked, leaving the picture of the family on his desk. He should have to look at it. My hands shook. I wanted to turn around, march back, and punch him.
Me too. Whatta dick.
Needs comma between words
Another click. “He laughed.” In his place, I’d laugh too. “Try the Cowboy.” Click. Click. “No. And that’s a quote.”
Vain. Terminal fear of T-shirts or any other garment that would cover his pectorals.
“Who posted his bail?” “One of his college buddies. Cornelius Maddox Harrison.” Quite a name. Someone’s parents had ambitions.
Bern stored information in logical chains. When asked something, he would start at the beginning of the chain and pull it all out link by link until the relevant information finally emerged.
Interruptions derailed Bern. He would get back on track in his methodical way, and he couldn’t understand why you jumped up and down and foamed at the mouth in sheer frustration while he took his time doing it.
“Let’s do it,” Bern said. “Let’s get Pierce and shove him down their throats so they’ll choke on him.”
I could close my eyes and imagine him rummaging through the pantry, complaining that someone ate the steak he’d been saving and he was now reduced to eating unnatural things like salad and croutons.
Tall and lanky, he looked spare; not underfed but dried like jerky under the sun.
Great description
If their shredder stopped working, they could just dump the paper over his head and his marble-perfect cheekbones would slice it to ribbons on the way down.
Wouldn’t that be just the icing on top of this Cake of Awful?
They were roses, and in my current getup, I was a daisy. He should’ve looked right over me.
The romance books I read to unwind had all sorts of ways to describe dangerous men. They compared them to wolves, lions, tigers. By that logic, this man was a dragon,
If dragons existed and could talk, they would sound just like him.
He might be a dragon, but if he tried to swallow me whole, I’d make him choke.
I saw a tiger with glowing eyes and teeth as big as my fingers, and instead of running for my life, I sat there and admired how handsome he was while he got close enough to pounce.
“You don’t have the touching rights.” “How do I get those?” Stop being a self-absorbed spoiled baby. “You get those if I fall in love with you.” He stopped. “In love. You’re serious?” “Yes.” That would shut him up. “What is this, the sixteenth century? Should I write you a sonnet next?” “Is it going to be a good sonnet?”
WHY ISNT HE THE LOVE INTEREST?! I LOVE HIM.
I’m a known fugitive who likes to set people on fire. Come away with me so we can have hot sex while the entire city is trying to shoot me in the head. If I get bored, I’ll barbecue you for my amusement. Sure, let me get my shoes.
Okay. We were on the same page then.
“And this is exactly why it’s a no.” I rose. “And the next time you choose to project into my dreams, do keep your clothes on.” He smiled. It was a scorching hot, self-aware smile. He looked at me like I was already naked and wrapped in his arms. I felt the need to grab a napkin and hold it in front of me like a shield. “I can project, but I would have to be next to you to do it.” Oh crap.
reminded myself. Basement. Psycho. Boundaries. Boundaries were good. “I thought about your offer.” “I’m aflutter with anticipation.”
He grinned. I’ve amused the dragon. Whee.
“So the best way to fight you is to strip naked and attack?” His eyes flashed with a wicked light. “Yes. You should try it and see what happens.”
The next time I went anywhere with Mad Rogan, I’d bring one of those bandoliers action stars wore when they routed terrorists from jungles.
than witnessing him calmly breaking a man with his bare hands. After what we’d been through, I would’ve expected him to hole up somewhere dark, eating raw meat, chain-smoking, guzzling some sort of ridiculously tough drink, like whiskey or kerosene or something, and thinking grim thoughts about life and death. But no, here he was, charming and untroubled, sipping coffee.
“According to our mother,” Bern said, “he was conceived because she was too wasted to remember a rubber.” Mad Rogan stopped chewing. “I was conceived because my mother skipped bail. Her boyfriend at the time threatened to call the cops on her, so she had to do something to keep him from doing it,” Bern said helpfully.
😂🤡😂🤡☠️
“Yes, I’m a hermit. Mostly I brood,” Mad Rogan said. “Also I’m very good at wallowing in self-pity. I spend my days steeped in melancholy, looking out the window. Occasionally a single tear quietly rolls down my cheek.”
“What about . . .” “No,” Mom and I said in unison. “But you don’t even know what I wanted to ask!” “No,” we said again together.
“One school of thought says that the best way to handle an issue like this is exposure therapy,” Mad Rogan said. “For example, if you’re terrified of snakes, repeated handling of them will cure it.” Aha. “I’m not handling your snake.” He grinned. “Baby, you couldn’t handle my snake.”
If I could, I would punch today right in the face.
I just felt, with some sort of feminine intuition, that when he had sex, he committed to it completely. He would have sex the way other men made war.
Mad Rogan smiled at me. I jerked my hand toward my office. He walked in. I locked the door behind him. Mad Rogan stepped into my office and landed in a chair. Instantly my office shrank. There had been space before, and now there was Rogan.
He laughed. It was a genuine, amused laugh. “You’re really mad at me.”
I didn’t want to let Pancakes in, but he still owned us. I unlocked the door.
Not her using Rohan’s nickname for Augustine too ☠️😂🤡
My mother carried a shotgun. Grandma Frida carried her phone.
The two men marched out of the office. Grandma Frida raised her phone and snapped a picture. The door closed. I landed into my chair.
Not me giggling aloud with my own grandma in the same room and her asking me about what I’m laughing at hahahahah love it
My mom had a very neutral expression on her face. “And he’s unattached?” “I don’t know, actually. He strikes me as the kind of person who has a very liberal interpretation of that word. Why do you ask?” “Look outside your window.” I got up and snuck to the window, trying not to wake Bern. Brilliant red carnations filled the parking lot. Some bright red, some dark, almost purple, they rose from planters—hundreds, no, probably thousands, illuminated by small red lights thrust between the planters, blending together into one giant beautiful carnation flower. I closed my mouth with a click. “They
...more
I had no idea, but I was sure that no matter how long I lived, no man would ever give me five thousand carnations again. This was a magical thing that could happen only once, so I stood there, breathed in the scent, and let myself dream.
