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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.
Jennifer Estep
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Jennifer Estep
Age: 24
Born: 2000
Born: January 1
Author
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Kill
Selecting
Sweet
Alabama
Party
Knife
Times
Knives
Home
Crash
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Whoever
Wanted
Radio
Many
Played
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You're mine, Not his. Mine. Only mine. Always mine.
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Don't you agree, fuzzball?
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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'm crazy about you, Spartan.
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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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Are you coming along peaceful-like, or am I going to have to hog-tie you and put you in the car?
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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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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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I looked at Bria. “How do you put up with him?” Bria started to open her mouth, but Finn piped up instead. “She puts up with me because I happen to be rich, handsome, charming, a witty conversationalist, and exceptionally talented in bed,” he smirked. “Flexible too.” I groaned. “I did not need to hear those last two.
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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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Really, Gin, did you have to ruin my suit?” he said. “This was a Fiona Fine original.
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I used to murder people for money, but these days it’s more of a survival technique.
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Can you play the piano like Beethoven? Or sing like Carly Simon? Can you take fie pages' worth of quotes and turn them into a usable story ten minutes before deadline? I don't think so, unless you have more hidden talents I don't know about. We all have our special sills. They don't make us better or worse than each other. Just different
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Now, back to my vacation idea.” Finn grinned, showing off his perfect white teeth. “Just think about it. You, Owen, me, and Bria, all happily ensconced in a swanky hotel by a beautiful beach. Bria in a bikini. You and Owen doing your own thing, Bria in a bikini. Did I mention Bria in a bikini?
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Oh yes. You’ve caught me. I confess. My sole purpose in life is to gleefully, willfully, maniacally destroy all of your precious chrome babies.
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Instead, I cut him. Not deep, but there was enough of a sting in the wound to remind him of what I'd done to the dwarven mobsters in the parking lot - and that I wasn't just some chick with a knife who looked good in black.
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