Pritkin kissed like he did everything else, straightforward, accepting no prisoners and with an intensity that left me breathless. It was hot and hard and desperate, like he was starving for it, and I opened my mouth and took it, because, God.

I stared at him, unable to believe this was happening. That he could just disappear, along with everything rich and strange he’d brought into my life. Vanished, like magic.

You mean you let him talk to you like that and you aren't even getting any Man what a rip-off.

Not really hungry." "She’ll eat." Pritkin said curtly. "I said —" "If you starve to death it would damage my professional reputation." "I eat plenty." "The same does not apply should I strangle you in understandable irritation, however." "I’ll have a sandwich," I told Nick. "No meat.

Great. I'd been dumped in Hell's waiting room.

I can get others to do what you do. They won’t be as good, but . . . okay. It could work. But it doesn’t matter because no matter how good they are, they can’t replace you. They can’t because I don’t need you only for what you can do. I need you . . . for you.

Trash can!” Pritkin cursed and grabbed one, just about the time everything I’d eaten that night paid a repeat visit. Whiskey, pizza, milk shake, beer-and a lone, half-dissolved gummy bear, which was a surprise, since I couldn’t actually recall having eaten any. Fun times.