Maybe I needed sensitivity training. I once signed up for an anger management class, but the instructor pissed me off.

Who knew Demon Child would have such a normal name? I expected something exotic like Serena or Destiny or the Evil One That Comes in the Night to Make Us Chilly.

But, you're his son," I said, trying really hard to hate him. "You're the son of Satan. Literally." "And you are the stepdaughter of Denise Davidson." Wow. That was a bit harsh, but, "Okay, point taken.

You’re just using me for my body.” “You don’t have a body,” I’d remind him. “Throw that in my face.” “Technically, you don’t have a face either.

It is sexy in here or is it just me?

What did one say to a stalker? Um, pardon me, Mr.Stalker, but could you, like, not?

Where have you been?" I stepped into my apartment and met Uncle Bob's glare with one of my own. "Out trying to pass myself off as a movie producer to get hot guys to sleep with me. Where have you been?