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“I will be on guard,” she says. “But I will also be on my bullshit.”
“We need a task force that stops white men from starting podcasts for no reason.”
“Am I alive?” she gasps. “No, you’re in heaven, and even the angels don’t want you.”
“Careful,” she warns breathlessly. “You get to my throat, you give it a quick throttle, and it could all be over.”
“It’s dangerous.” “I like danger. It’s—” She gasps. A mischievous smile curls her lips. “It’s your middle name, isn’t it?”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Ash says as she passes the people. “He’s a nepo baby. No one ever said no to him when he was a child.”
“So fucking gorgeous,” he murmurs, taking her in his arms. “My morbid little beauty.”
Breathing heavily, she blinks up at him. “It’s supernatural. Your arrogance.” “And you are so very lovely and wicked.”
Life is a short series of commas, and if you’re lucky, an exclamation point, and then you die.
“Buried or cremated?” He shrugs, fighting the urge to unravel. “You look like you’ve thought about it.” “Neither. Lampshade,” she says with a smile. “Courtesy of Ed Gein.”
She shakes her head, arching a brow. “I’m messy and I’m mean.” “I love your mean. I know I will always get the right order at a restaurant because of you.”
