Rachel delivered it like an official pronouncement. Like she was one of the fairies gifting Sleeping Beauty's christening: Beauty. Intelligence. Heterosexual.

And yet there was something about his strength, his arrogance, his sheer size that got under my skin. He probably couldn't even spell vanilla. He was probably selfish in the sack. Probably selfish and greedy and...unsophisticated. And hung like a horse.

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

Cops before breakfast.Before coffee even. As if Mondays weren't bad enough.

I’m not going to let go of you. I’m going to hold you all night. So go ahead and feel whatever you feel. If you’re still craving cocaine, go ahead. You’re safe. You can crave it all you want, but I won’t let go, and if you still feel like you can’t trust yourself in the morning, and it’s what you want, I’ll drive you to rehab myself. Okay?" ~ Max

Vintage books, old china, antiques; maybe I love old things so much because I feel impermanent myself.

I’m never wrong? Who besides Republican presidents and evil masterminds can say that with a straight face?