If I were haunting A.J., he’d damn well know it.
Suzanne BrockmannShe was looking at the cab, looking right through me, and I knew that she was curious because she’d seen A.J. talking to me. Which, to her, looked an awful lot like A.J. was talking to himself.
“Say, I gotta run, mom, I’ll call you later,” I instructed the kid, and then pretend to hang up your phone.
We are not, not now, not ever, talking about sex,” A.J. said flatly.
I had to laugh. “We’re both grown men,” I pointed out. “I don’t see what the big deal—”
“Do it,” he said, “and I will walk over to the church, wake up the priest, and demand that he perform an exorcism. On the spot.”
“Well, now, that won’t work,” I scoffed. “I’m not a demon. Not even close.”
“Yeah, well, I’m willing to try it,” he said. “So go on. Make my day.
Hi, mom,” he said. “I’m fine.”
“How are you? Are you still seeing . . .?”
“Yep,” A.J. said. “Jamie’s sitting right here, next to me.”
“Let’s freak her out, okay?” Jamie said, mischief glinting in his eyes as he popped away—which worked more to freak A.J. out.
They were big and black and rubber—the kind of boots you might be wearing as you came in the kitchen door, shaking off your rain slicker and saying, Grab the young’uns, Ma. Crick’s a-rising.
Suzanne BrockmannWhile I sleep, and I sleep often these days, he spends much of his time in the church downtown. The very one I never could convince him to attend. He claims he is praying. But I know he is trying to strike a bargain with our Maker.
One hand of Black Jack, I know he says. Winner gets to keep the girl.
I know for sure, were J. granted that game of cars with the Almighty, he’d go into it with both an ace and a jack up his sleeve.
I love quick,” Gina said. “And come on, I’m getting jealous here. Was it zero sex last year for you,
too?”
“Yes,” he admitted. “I love you, you weren’t there—what was I going to do?”
“Are you actually embarrassed, ” she asked, “because you weren’t some kind of man-ho and—”
“No,” Max said. “I’m embarrassed that it took me an entire fucking year and a half and the worst scare
of my life to figure out that I can’t live without you.
A good fiction writer can write any character or any story that she wants to write. The importance, IMO, is a burning desire to tell that person's story.
Suzanne BrockmannTwo Navy SEALs versus one angry seven-month-old," he mused, "The odds could go either way.
Suzanne BrockmannStichwörter: into-the-storm
My favorite color is you.
Suzanne BrockmannStichwörter: love romance elliot-zerkowski favorite-color stephen-diaz
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