He gave a hard smile and the oxygen in my lungs evaporated. “We both know I’m not a gentleman.” “Yeah. Okay, let me out. I’m tired.” “There’s something else,” he said, and I groaned. “What now?” “This.” He stepped closer to me, so close that the containers were sandwiched between us. His eyes looked down into mine, intent and golden, like a lion. “Oh, no, you don’t!” I hissed, dropping everything. I pushed hard against his chest; it was like shoving a tree. “Yes,” he said very softly, leaning down. “Yes, I do.

I held a nail in place and slammed it with the hammer. Best. Chore. Ever.

My face is not that expressive!

I-just want you. I want you so bad, all the time. I know I shouldn't, I know I can't, I know it's wrong... but even when you're pissing me off, when you're reminding me of pain and despair and torture-it's there, the wanting. I'm tired of fighting it. I fight so many things, all the time, every day. I don't want to fight this. Not anymore.

It was all I could do to not knock him down right there in front of Asher and climb on him. If I stunned him with a frying pan first, he might not struggle too much.

Heritage does not equal destiny.

I felt an overwhelming gratitude in my life right now and wanted a chance to acknowledge it. I felt that any thanks given to any god all went to the same place, anyway, no matter what religion you were centered in.