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The two men stared at each other. Assumptions were made, judgments rendered, dicks measured.

Jennifer Estep

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Jennifer Estep
Age: 24
Born: 2000
Born: January 1
Author
Writer
Measured
Assumption
Judgment
Two
Dicks
Made
Rendered
Men
Stared
Assumptions
Judgments

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But I'd much rather face a dozen assassins like LaFleur any night than deal with something as tricky, convoluted, and fragile as my feelings.
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Hey, are you okay?”he asked “Nickamedes told me what happened with Preston. He and the others were worried about you. They’re out looking for you, along with Daphne, Carson, and Oliver.”I let out a bitter laugh.“I must have really freaked them out if Nickamedes was worried about me.
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Y’all might as well come on out,” I said. “I know you’re there. I can smell you.” “Smell me? But I just took a shower this morning!” an indignant voice drifted out of the shadows. There was a loud sound, like someone was getting smacked upside the head. Then another voice let out a low mutter. “Shut up, idiot.
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And that's when I snapped up my left hand and smashed him in the face with the hammer I'd grabbed.
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I will destroy you. No matter how long it takes, no matter what it costs me. I won’t sleep, I won’t eat. I won’t do anything but plot your downfall. I will mow down your men like they’re weeds. I’ll kill so many of them so viciously, so brutally, so horribly that no one will dare to work for you. And sooner or later, I’ll get you too.
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I might be an assassin, but never let it be said I wasn't as gracious a hostess as the next gal.
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There's nothing I can do that's going to drive you away, is there? I murmured. Owen flashed me a sly grin. Finally figuring that out, are you? I nodded. His grin deepened. Well, it sure took you long enough.
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That was my favorite dagger. She had a favorite dagger? Seriously? And she thought that I was a freak.
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Have I ever told you how scary it is that you think of heels in terms of their possible shiv potential?
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Etiquette? What kind of etiquette was there in someone trying to murder me?
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Don't you agree, fuzzball?
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Gin! Gin, are you here?” “Right behind you,” I said. Finn shrieked and whirled around. I winced at the high-pitched sound. “Dammit, woman.” He clutched the folder to his chest. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack?
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They’d played “Sweet Home, Alabama” so many times I wanted to crash the party, kill the radio, and knife whoever was selecting the music.
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Keep the change, Gin, McCallister said in a smarmy, mocking voice. Consider it an early Christmas present. Aw, I drawled. A whopping thirteen cents. You're too kind, Jonah. Why, you'd put Ebezener Scrooge to shame with your bighearted generosity.
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What did you expect? That he'd send you flowers and write you bad poetry? That dead Nemean prowler is pretty much as close to a stuffed animal as you're ever going to get from a Spartan like Logan Quinn.
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I didn't know what would take my mind off the sexy Spartan, except for maybe a total lobotomy.
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I know that maniacal twinkle in your eye. You're up to something Gwen, he said.
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Finn regarded pesky little things like wedding bands, engagement rings, and jealous, hulking menfolk more as amusing challenges than immovable obstacles that could be hazardous to his health.
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You're just jealous. Hardly. Been there, done you. Adequate, but unremarkable.
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Really, Gin, did you have to ruin my suit?” he said. “This was a Fiona Fine original.
Jennifer Estep