I flash him number seventeen of my thirty-five Looks of Death.

Don't leave me, Rainbow Girl." Rainbow Girl. Was that who I was? It seemed so long ago. I smiled faintly. "Remember the skirt I wore to Mallucé's the night you told me to dress Goth?" "It's upstairs in your closet. Never throw it away. It looked like a wet dream on you.

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

Moth to a flame I follow.

Being nearly naked around Barrons felt a lot like going to a shark convention lightly basted in blood.

He strips his shirt over his head and I catch my breath, watching those long hard muscles ripple. I know how his shoulders look, bunched, when he's on top of me, how his face gets tight with lust, as he eases inside me. "Who am I?" "Jericho" "Who are you?" He kicks off his boots, steps out of his pants. He's commando tonight. My breath whooshes out of me in a run-on word: "Whogivesafuck?

Anyone worth knowing breaks once. Once. No shame, no foul if you survive it. You did.