Shrugging out of the damaged shirt, Jake said roughly, “I still dream about you.” “I have nightmares about you.” I dragged my T-shirt over my head, threw it aside.

Knowing and believing are two different things.

Then, like a born and bred asshole, he added to the sheriff, "He writes murder mysteries.

I thought again how odd it was to be on formal terms with someone you had once permitted to lick your ears.

You were the first in every way that counted.

The problem with a life spent reading is you know too much.

Shrugging out of the damaged shirt, Jake said roughly, “I still dream about you.” “I have nightmares about you.” I dragged my T-shirt over my head, threw it aside.