Principles of Spookology (The Spectral Files, #2)

by S.E. Harmon

I also owed him a blowjob, and I never welshed on a blowjob. It’s just not good manners, and I was raised better than that.

I knew a dog hopped up on angel dust when I saw one.

Didn’t Danny know the rules? You always side with the guy who warms up the lube before he jams it in your ass.

Getting me hard at a potential crime scene—it was the lowest of lows.

“Last time I checked, we’re cops. We can’t turn down donuts. People will talk, Daniel.”

Can’t a man give his boyfriend a blow job on his own sink without it being front page news in the Washington Ghost?

Your dick can be my dreamcatcher.

“Love is this unstoppable force that you have very little control over. Sometimes you love the people that you shouldn’t. Sometimes you love people who’ve hurt you over and over again.”

“That’s love for you. Making decisions all on its own. I don’t have any say in that. I love you because my heart says so.” He sent me a crooked smile. “I like you because I say so.”

My dick had died… or at least was in such critical condition, I should set up a GoFundMe page.

Strange how nothing mattered in the search for an orgasm, not even the fact that I, someone who had a hard time with even the most basic yoga positions, contorted my body like a pretzel to give Danny unfettered access to my ass.

“I, Daniel McKenna, promise to love, hold, honor, and cherish you. And always say yes to shower sex.” His voice was a deep rumble, laced with threads of amusement. “There will always be room in my bed for you and only you, as long as you shut the fuck up and go to sleep.”

Dear Diary, Today I was given permission to be the saltiest motherfucker that ever walked the earth.

We may not be on the same page, but dammit, we were always reading the same book.