...But also because I find I really do…" He paused, as if he were about to say something outrageous. "I find I have feelings for you." "Oh," I said into his chest, sounding as astonished as Eric had(...)"Eric," I said, after a long pause, "I almost hate to say this, but I have feelings for you, too.

Hey, our hair's the same color," I said, eyeing us side by side in the mirror. Sure is, Girlfriend." Eric grinned at me. "But are you blond all the way down?" Don't you wish you knew?" Yes," he said simply. Well, you'll just have to wonder." I am," he said. "Blond everywhere," I could tell as much from your chest hair." He raised my arm to check my armpit. "You silly women, shaving your body hair," He said, dropping my arm.

I'd been blindsided with the most painful knowledge: the first man to ever say he loved me had never loved me at all. His passion had been artificial. His pursuit of me had been choreographed.

"Come on," I said, taking his hand. Clutching the afghan with the other hand, he trailed down the hall after me, a snow white giant in tiny red underwear.

Okay I've been stupid in the past. Not consistently stupid, but occasionally stupid. And I've made mistakes. You bet, I've made mistakes.

If this was The Lord of the Rings and I had a smart British voice like Cate Blanchett, I could tell you the background of the events of that fall in a really suspenseful way. And you’d be straining to hear the rest.

Sookie, what have we done? And to whom?" "I killed a chicken. And I cooked it." "Sookie, Sookie. My bullshit meter is reading that as a false." -Eric Northman, Sookie Stackhouse