This was sharing office space with wacko and bordering on ludicrous.
~ Kelly Moran
It took a pair of ghosts to open my eyes.
Calm down. Ghosts don’t ring the doorbell.
Considering I'm a writer, you leave me strangely bereft of words.
He could’ve penned a rendition of Moby Dick in Pig Latin and he wouldn’t have been the wiser.
He bit back a weary sigh and tried to remember strangling her would solve squat.
You are no star, Gabby. You're the sky. The rest of us are just circling your orbit.
Considering she’d just blown his gray matter into the ether, he was screwed.
Urges. Mercy, the urges.
The algorithms in his hard drive scrambled and his coding short-circuited. Like she’d downloaded a virus right into his system, he got feverishly hot.
Damn, her mouth was a weapon.
She held my face in her hands as if I was the treasure.
Maybe he was going to hell. Except, he could’ve sworn that was where he’d been the past ten years.
Yes, best friend of mine. I am the famous photographer you've admired for years, and the man who's admired you.
Lord, but did he grow up nice.
He could be doing quantum physics in his head or undressing her in his mind—she’d never know the difference.
He didn’t know what was hotter, her Star Wars reference or the breathiness with which she spoke it.
I’d tell you not to swoon, but he’d catch you, so never mind.
We all have our handicaps. You're not mine.
God. He was an eye-gasm if she ever saw one.
How southern belle of her.
Her mother and memory lapses were BFFs.
Hazard of the job. That's Ode de Anal Gland you smell.
Just about every available female--and some unavailable--seemed to think the way to his heart was through his blood sugar levels.
I'll never get to hear her say, 'I love you, Mommy,' like other parents take for granted.
She was supposed to be my salvation, and though she wouldn’t be my ruin, the loss was going to thrust my life right back to what started my downward spiral in the first place.
Organization takes the fun out of everything.
He'd never need a camera to remember this, and damn if he ever wanted anyone but him to see her like she was at this moment.
He was going to need God Almighty to come down from On High to explain this one.
He slid the photo out and raised it. The sun washed out any distinguishable characteristics. All except her eyes. He didn’t need a picture to remember those. As turquoise as the waters near Cozumel, and just as warm.
Born with a silver spoon in his mouth, he was going out with a rifle in his hand.
Redemption was asking too much, but he could hope. Something told him he’d still be seeking absolution when he took his last breath on some distant day.
He was a drool-worthy, panty-drenching, yummy work of masculine art.
For a guy who wore layers upon layers of armor, his give-a-shit was showing.
I give you my love & my luck. Don't throw either away.
Common sense got drunk and giddy when Olivia was on the premises. Maybe he should just raise a glass, too, and dub reason a lost cause.
She was thinking of doing a little Cuervo therapy.
She broke my heart over and over, day after day, but I love her.
Her sudden grin depleted some of his brain cells. She was evil like that.
That dress was designed to be a kill switch for rational thought.
