Adrian's new research partner stepped through the door, and I knew the uneasy peace we'd just established in Palm Springs was about to shatter. Dimitri Belikov had arrived.

I unfolded the note, and it took me a few seconds to decipher Adrian’s writing. If he did write me a dating proposal, I really hoped he would type it.

You should've just gotten a kids' meal.” Adrian told me, pointing to my half-eaten burger and fries. “You could've saved me a lot of money. And gotten a toy.

Isaiah rolled his eyes. "Good God. What a noble lot. You're all Spartacus, aren't you?

Don't be sorry you loved him. That's part of you, part you have to let go.

Kill me, Doug. Just kill me now. Put me out of my misery.” “Christ, Kincaid, what did you say to him?” murmured Doug. “Well,” I told Doug, “I ripped on his fans and on how long it takes for his books to come out.” Doug stared at me, his expectations exceeded. “Then I said—not knowing who he was—that I’d be Seth Mortensen’s love slave in exchange for advanced copies of his books.

Screw you," I told him in a low voice. "Are you offering?” "From what I've heard, there isn't much to screw," I shot back.