Much Awkwardness Ensued.

No-pocket Jeans Are Only Slightly Less Irritating Than Thong Underwear.

Mine, ... Mine Is What She Is.

Mine. He Was Mine, And Not Even Death Would Take Him From Me—not If I Could Help It.

He Bit The Nape Of My Neck And I Moaned.

I Thought You Were Dead. Stupid. As If I'd Die Without Taking You With Me.