I’m not dangerous,” I breathed. He brought his face toward mine. “You are to me.” And somehow, against all reason, we were kissing.

I sat there for several moments, trying to decide how best I should respond. None of the advice I'd gotten from the books or my friends really prepared me for how to handle discussions about alternative energy sources. One of the books - one I'd chosen not to finish - had a decidedly male-centric view that said women should always make men feel important on dates. I suspected that Kristin and Julia's advice right now would have been to laugh and toss my hair - and not let the discussion progress. But I just couldn't do that. "You're wrong," I said.

Escape plan #5: Open an alpaca ranch in Texas, one that requires all blond-haired, brown-eyed, brainy girls to wear sexy cowgirl outfits.

The only thing true about what you just said was the storybook damsel part - and that only because you're pretty enough to be one.

I was so tired of being told reasonable, practical things whenever something went wrong with my life.

ʺWe need someone to get the roomʹs attention,ʺ I said. ʺSomeone not afraid to make a spectacle—I mean, besides me, of course.ʺ

I’m a succubus.” He shook his head. “No, you aren’t.” “Yes, I am.” “You aren’t.” I was a bit surprised to be having this conversation. “I am too.” “No. Succubi are flame-eyed and bat-winged. Everyone knows that. They don’t wear jeans and sweaters.