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“I'm a librarian in town,' she began.
'You sure about that?'
The words popped out before he could stop them.
Annabelle raised her eyebrows. 'Fairly. It's my job and so far no one has told me to go away when I show up for work.'
smooth, Stryker, he thought, very smooth.
'I was expecting someone wearing glasses. You know. Because librarians read a lot.'
The raised eyebrows turned into a frown. 'You need to get out of the barn more.”
― Susan Mallery, Summer Nights

“you're Shane, right?'
He inched away from her and managed a quick nod as he twisted the rag he held in his fingers.
'Heidi sad you were willing to teach me how to ride.' Her expression shifted from entertained to confused, as if she was wondering why no one had mentioned he was a can or two shy of a six-pack.
'A horse,' he clarified, then wanted to kick himself. What else but a horse? Did he think she was here to learn to ride his mother's elephant?
One corner of Annabelle's perfect, full mouth twitched. 'A horse would be good. You seem to have several.'
He wanted to remind himself that he was usually fine around women. Smooth even. He was intelligent, funny and could, on occasion, be charming. Just not now, with his blood pumping and his brain doing nothing more than shouting "it's her, it's her" over and over again.
Chemistry, he thought grimly. It could turn the smartest man into a drooling idiot. Here he was, proving the theory true.”
― Susan Mallery, Summer Nights

“Much as I try not to find weirdos amongst the other passengers, I keep finding weirdos amongst the other passengers. Take this old woman yesterday, marching down the platform in front of me like she had a stick stuck up her arse. She had a face like an albino walnut. I didn’t know this at the time, of course, until I had cause to glance at her.
Anyway, she was marching along talking to someone, swinging her arm about, and just as I go to overtake her she swung her hand down-and-out and hit me in the dick!
I didn’t know what to do.”
― Karl Wiggins, Calico Jack in your Garden

“Language master that I was, my own word game never clicked well with guys. I'd never quite mastered the art of perfect response, either.”
― Laura Taylor Namey, The Library of Lost Things

“Det var svÃ¥rt att avgöra om han njöt av att hon var besvärad eller om han faktiskt tyckte synd om henne.”
― Sally Rooney, Beautiful World, Where Are You

“An Inflicted Introduction by Stewart Stafford

A sour smile across thin lips,
While cat-and-mouse eyes,
Stared, unblinking, at my face,
Forked tongue gauged reaction.

Acid wafting from that mouth,
Light as flecks of warm butter,
But leaving a bitter aftertaste,
Tricking nobody within earshot.

Their hooded gaze scorched,
As infants on their playthings,
Bloated from odious overspill,
I withdrew from their presence.

© Stewart Stafford, 2022. All rights reserved.”
― Stewart Stafford

“Hullo there, jester," the poet said with a bright smile. Lionheart, who had not made himself known wondered just how the blind poet had known he was there. "I say, it's a bit discomfiting, isn't it? Old Ragniprava prowling abut the place, I mean. I've almost bumped into him once or twice. It's the most socially awkward situation. I mean, what do you say? 'Greetings, my lord, sorry about the eye. Shall we let bygones be bygones?' It's not as though I can make him the whole eye-for-an-eye offer, can I?”
― Anne Elisabeth Stengl, Moonblood

“Han har inte nÃ¥gon aning om hur han ska vara min pappa nu när han inte längre är min skÃ¥despelar coach och manager.”
― Colleen Hoover, November 9