My Misery Is Reaching Epidemic

You Are Working Up To Mr. Fantastic Fiction Levels Of Zombie Expert, Which Is Like Playing Guitar Hero On Some Level That Actually Melts The Guitar Controller, Burning Your Fingers With Searing Hot Plastic Till You Scream In Pain. Only With Words. And Zombies.

Evie Replied With An Eye-roll. “do You Think You Can Manage To Not Steal Anything While I’m Gone?” “the Only Thing I’m Trying To Steal Is Your Heart, Doll.” Sam Smirked. “you’re Not That Talented A Thief, Sam Lloyd.

You Can’t Blame A Fella For Kissing The Prettiest Girl In New York, Can You, Sister?” Sam’s Grin Was Anything But Apologetic. Evie Brought Up Her Knee Quickly And Decisively, And He Dropped To The Floor Like A Grain Sack. “you Can’t Blame A Girl For Her Quick Reflexes Now, Can You, Pal?

It's Only His Thumb Brushing Slowly Across The Lower Edge Of My Lip, But It's As If Time Slows And The Sweep Of That Thumb Below My Mouth Takes Forever. It Is No Spell That I Know Of, But It Holds Such Magic, I Can Scarcely Breath. He Pulls His Hand Away Fast, Aware Of What He's Done. But His Touch Lingers.

My Dad Was A Presbyterian Minister. Yes, I Am One Of Those Dreaded P.k.s - Preachers Kids. Be Afraid.