I think I was born 'in to deep,' and bad things happen every day. Sometimes I have to stab hellions. Sometimes I have to frame friends for murder, and stab evil math teachers, and watch my best friend die. Again. We deal with it, then we move on.

I went up on my toes to kiss him, and he groaned. "Do you really think this is appropriate on school grounds?" "Nope." I wrapped my arms around his neck. "And I happen to know there isn't an appropriate thought running through your head right now." "Or any other time." Tod pulled me close and held me so tight my ribs almost hut, but I didn't want him to let go. Ever.

So don't. Come hang out with me at work. We can play naughty dress up with the hospital gowns and rearrange the supply closets.

Anger is great. It's powerful, when you need something to hold you up. Something to steel your spine. But in the dark, when you're alone with the truth, anger can't survive. The only thing that can live in the dark with you is fear.

Why do I always have to be the one who says 'stop'?" I demanded, my voice little more than a moan. "You don't. In fact, at this point I'm considering a petition to that word stricken from the English language." His grin was almost lazy, the gleam in his eyes an effortless challenge. "If I did, would you sign?

So, 'reaper' is really just a nice word for 'covert pervert?' Is that what you're saying?

So you’re saying the afterlife is hard on the libido? FYI, that’s probably not a good bullet point for your recruiting brochure.