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Focus, Amy. Just because he looked great in the saddle did not mean he wasn't an axe murderer.

Rosemary Clement-Moore

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Rosemary Clement-Moore
Focus
Mean
Great
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Saddles
Amy
Murderer
Looked
Wasn

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I glanced at Carson, who had promised things would be alright. His gaze was on the floor, and a muscle in his jaw flexed rhythmically but unhelpfully. If he was trying to send me a message, I was out of luck, because I'd never learned Morse Code for Assholes.
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That was easy for him to say when his cell phone was rounding third base. If anyone got a home run tonight, I didn't want it to be Verizon Wireless.
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He rose to his feet in one fluid move, the better to look down at me. “You don’t know me, princess. Some people have reasons for doing things, and don’t just go wherever they’re told or drift whichever way they’re pushed.
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How about this? I said, because now it was the principle of the thing. I'm sorry, jackass.
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Oh My God, I blurted, grabbing onto Phin as we faced the open bedroom door. It's the axe murderer. I doubt he would knock, she said, but she was whispering, too, and didn't move away from me.
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