Smut

by Karina Halle

I’m standing in the middle of what looks to be an epic proposal to a man that I love but don’t want to marry.

I suppose I could live by myself, but the thing is, even though I’ve been a self-proclaimed hermit my whole life, being alone right now scares me.

You can’t play the player without getting played.”

“Writing is hard,” she continues. “It gets harder when it becomes your career, your job, because it’s no longer a hobby, it’s no longer a manuscript hidden in your desk drawer. It becomes a platform from which the world can judge you. Your soul becomes target practice, and the critics hold the arrows. I’m not saying this to scare or discourage you, because I’ve been teaching this class a long time and I know nothing will discourage a wannabe writer more than harsh reality. I don’t have to say a word. If it’s in you, it’s in you, and you will persevere no matter the cost, no matter how hard it is, because that’s what you are born to do. To throw another cliché your way, the only way to fail is to quit.”

I’m not socially awkward, but to be honest, most people are total morons, and my tolerance for them isn’t very high.

All you need to do to know how people really feel about you is to turn off your ears and read their body language.

Her obvious dislike of me has led to my dislike of her, and my dislike of her has led to me, well, trying to get a rise out of her whenever I can.

His smile is infectious. Then again, so was the plague.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHA

“I’m a liar and a thief. A thief of a heart that shouldn’t belong to me. A thief of a heart that was easily taken. But I am one man, with two hearts, and none of them are my own.”

I push the drink away. “I’ll behave.” He waits a beat, licking his lips, before he says, “I wish you wouldn’t.”

My characters are still me, even if they are masked by fantasy and fiction.

My idea of romance is a guy who will take me to see an Avengers film and doesn’t mind dressing up like Loki afterward.

Giiiiirlll yes

Thank god for e-readers. You can read the filthiest shit and pretend you’re engrossed in War and Peace.

My mother gets up and gives me a light hug. She smells like Chanel and disappointment.

“Do you think she’s going to report us?” I ask him breathlessly, watching in the side mirrors as the gleaming glass walls of the library disappear. My heart is racing so hard I can hear it. “Well,” he says, letting out a little laugh. “Let’s just say you should avoid that library next year. Or wear a disguise.” “That was my happy place, you know!” He raises his eyebrows suggestively. “And yet somehow I just made it a hell of a lot happier.”