I'm dead, not impotent. Nasty rumors like that must be squashed before they gain momentum. Feel free to emphasize how very functional I am.

His name's Nash." Aunt Val took a butter knife from the silverware drawer. "What year is he?" I groaned inwardly. "Senior." ...here we go ... Her smile was a little too enthusiastic. "Well that's wonderful!" Of course, what she really meant was "Rise from the shadows, social leper, and walk in the bright light of acceptance!

I could take care of that obstacle for her - I'd tear down anything standing between us - but I couldn't destroy what I couldn't even see.

Hey." Her grin grew as she glanced from me to Nash, then back. "You're blocking the fridge." "There's a cooler in the other room." Nash nodded toward the main part of the house. Emma shrugged. "Yeah, but no one's making out in front of it.

I’d learned that my mother was a badass in disguise. She was Van Helsing in an apron and heels, and—at least for the time being—I couldn’t think of a single thing cooler than that.

The dead have a way of becoming saints in the eyes of their survivors.

There’s an us?” “As far as I’m concerned…” He leaned forward, his mouth inches from mine, and my pulse spiked. “There’s nothing but us.