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The last thing I remember is going to bed being hella emo, but now, suddenly, I'm here.
The thought sinks down in my stomach like a stone, or a plate of Reese’s Legendary 17-Layer Nachos after they’ve been sitting out for a day, so I try to push it away.
At least Reese is a good cook. Maybe not healing-a-TBI good like he thinks, but on a scale from shitty rich people restaurants where they serve you one olive seed at a time on fire to TGI Friday's at happy hour, he's a solid Panera Bread.
"Brad, that's kind of what reading does," Devon says with a small laugh. "You feel immersed in another world. That's the point."
"I've never seen you tear into anything that hungrily that wasn't a stuffed crust supreme pizza."
"Besides, if anything's misogynistic, it's having a main character with zero personality who exists to think about Raul's abs, shit on the other women in the book for no reason, and get rescued
"But I got a plan. Pop a few silver bullets into a Glock and load a Super Soaker up with holy water for good measure. Bang bang, squirt squirt, motherfucker's dead and they all lived happily ever after, bitch."
My heart hammers against my ribs and I feel kind of queasy, but that's probably just a side effect of all the magic we've been doing. That and the chicken-fried steak I ate for breakfast.
"It's just a spell from my grandmother's grimoire," she answers, like that's something everyone's Nana has laying around up in the attic.
And just like that, it hits me like getting creamed by that car all over again. I love him.
His rapid footsteps retreat down the hall as I continue to dry heave into the sink, my stomach twisting itself into knots that could win a Boy Scout badge.
"Nice sitting room." "Is that what it's called?" I ask, looking over at the pool table. "We mostly just use it for beer pong and makeout sessions.” Luna blinks at me. “With each other, or…?”
"I have no intention of letting you go again," he says with the kind of confidence only a guy with a foot-long dick and an army of werewolves can muster.
