Sable hair bisected his pecs and arrowed down to the straight and unequivocal statement of his returned interest. Forcing my gaze to his face, I said, "I really don't think we have time for that." "You know that, and I know that, but HE doesn't believe it." "Believe it," I told HIM. J.X.'s mouth tugged into one of those heart-stopping smiles. "Maybe you should whisper in his ear.

I noticed you right away." She gave me an approving look. "I like quiet, polite men. And men who wear Hugo Boss. I was hoping you weren't gay. Or that you were only half-gay. Like Paul." "Uh...sorry," I said. "It's pretty much full-time now. The pay's not great, but the perks...

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

Tiffs among the faggots were apparently the stuff of quiet merriment.

I'm a thirty-something gay man with a dodgy heart. I sell books for a living. Who wants to read about that?

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

...Jake, a homosexual cop buried so deep in the closet he didn't know where to look for himself.