I'm welding the bimbo room shut.

When I'm with him, I can feel myself getting better. It's like he's picking up broken pieces of me and putting me back together, and I don't even know he's doing it. We never talk about it. We don't go to therapy. He just loves me and that's enough.

Tall, with skin the color of rich coffee, and dressed all in black, Jim looked like he was carved from a block of solid muscle. Logic said that at some point he must've been a baby and then a child, but looking at him one was almost convinced that some deity touched the ground with its scepter and proclaimed, "There shall be a badass," and Jim sprung into existence, fully formed, complete with clothes, and ready for action.

Why were you in a vehicle with Kate, alone? What were you wearing? What was she wearing? How long were you there? Did you do something or did you talk? What was the nature of your discussion? Could this trip have been avoided?" I rubbed my face. "So basically you're scared that His Lordship might get his panties in a bunch?" "That's one way to put it.

What's that?" "That's my attack poodle.

You said sloppy! Look, I didn't even use my sword; I hit him with my head, like a moron.

I batted my eyelashes and did my best to appear dumb as a board