I'm here. You're safe now. It's okay to remember. They can never hurt you again.

When he kisses me again, the last part of me that could stand myself dies.

Now you know how I justify my addictions—if I can pay less for it than I would at Wal-Mart, I get to have it.

A fecking flamethrower! Why didn't I think of that? Best I came up with was a measly hair dryer.

Oh, please," I rolled my eyes, "You're a leftie, Barrons." "Touche, Ms. Lane," he murmured.

Then why was his tongue in your mouth? Was he conducting a clinical test of your gag reflex?" He smiled, but not nicely. "How is your gag reflex, Ms. Lane? Are you a hair trigger?" Barrons likes to use sexual innuendo to try to shut me up. I think he expects the well-raised southern belle in me will think eew and back off. Sometimes, I do think eew, but I don't back off. "I'm a spitter, if that's what you're asking." I flashed him a too-sweet smile. "Didn't look that way to me. I think you're a swallower. His tongue was halfway to China and you were still taking it." "Jealous?

Barrons, Jericho: I haven't the faintest fecking clue. He keeps saving my life. I suppose that's something.