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...Jake, a homosexual cop buried so deep in the closet he didn't know where to look for himself.

Josh Lanyon

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Josh Lanyon
Closets
Homosexual
Buried
Deep
Didn
Look
Jake
Looks
Closet
Cop

More quotes by Josh Lanyon

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You know that thing about Death Be Not Proud? Well, Fear Be Not Proud either. And Fear Be Not Elegant. What Fear be is stumbling, bumbling flight, crashing through brush, slip-sliding on pine needles, sloshing through puddles that are always deeper than you expect.
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I know you've all heard the advice, Show, don't tell. The best writers don't tell you, and quite frankly they don't just show you -- they make you feel it, live it, taste it, touch it. Storytelling is about being in the moment with the characters.
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The only thing worse than opera is someone who hums along with opera.
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I noticed you right away. She gave me an approving look. I like quiet, polite men. And men who wear Hugo Boss. I was hoping you weren't gay. Or that you were only half-gay. Like Paul. Uh...sorry, I said. It's pretty much full-time now. The pay's not great, but the perks...
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Not as intolerable as being dead, in my opinion, but I'm very fond of me. I would miss me a lot.
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I love you, Jake whispered. Are you strong enough for this? I made myself comfortable. Said over my shoulder, Sure. Would you tell me if you weren't? I grinned. Maybe. I can't think of a nicer way to commit suicide. That's good. I can't think of a more pleasant way to commit murder.
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I'm a thirty-something gay man with a dodgy heart. I sell books for a living. Who wants to read about that?
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Kevin refilled my plastic cup with more box wine. I smiled thanks. Kevin smiled welcome. Jake kicked my ankle.
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Shrugging out of the damaged shirt, Jake said roughly, “I still dream about you.” “I have nightmares about you.” I dragged my T-shirt over my head, threw it aside.
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I’m never wrong? Who besides Republican presidents and evil masterminds can say that with a straight face?
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I'm not insane. This is very simple, very straightforward. Provided he doesn't kill me, its foolproof.
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Jake's mouth found mine, his lips molding hot and soft to my own. His tongue tentatively tested the seal of my lips I parted them and he pushed inside. It was startlingly sweet and achingly familiar, like finding harbor.
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Rachel delivered it like an official pronouncement. Like she was one of the fairies gifting Sleeping Beauty's christening: Beauty. Intelligence. Heterosexual.
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Tiffs among the faggots were apparently the stuff of quiet merriment.
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He looked okay. No, to be honest. He looked a lot better than okay. He looked...fine. Fine, as in get the Chiffons over here to sing a chorus.
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Drink your coffee -- people in Africa are sleeping.
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Adrien, people get killed all the time. Since when is it your job to find out what happened to them? I'm not usually suspected of murdering them. You have been as long as I've known you.
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The battle rages eternal, though the race, religion, gender or sexual orientation of those discriminated against changes regularly. Maybe man’s need for a scapegoat is genetically programmed into him.
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Have I ever told you, you look like Monty Clift? he inquired in a deep, seductive voice. Before or after the accident?
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I know that asshole you were with in college --” “Can we leave that asshole out of it?” Please, gentlemen, one asshole at a time.
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