Screw this. He’d blown his shot at nice-and-easy, which only left quick-and-brutal—my favorite way to play.

Sorry, but the whole walking corpse epiphany kind of threw me off my game.

So could we please not mob the three-thousand-plus-year-old reaper like tweens at a boy-band concert?

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.

Eastlake High makes Buffy's hellmouth look like a crack in the sidewalk.

Bold. Risky. Dramatic. I approve.

You mostly.” Her hands went still again as her eyes stared off into the past with a look so wistful it made me ache for her. “The boys tended to take care of each other but you were too much for anyone else to handle.” I poked at the ball of yarn avoiding her eyes. “I wasn’t that bad.” She smiled. “You broke Ethan’s arm.” “It was self-defense. He wouldn’t let go of my foot.” “He was helping you tie your shoe.