Shit. With Qhuinn looking at him like that, he couldn’t remember his own name. Blaysox? Blacklock? Blabberfox? Who the fuck knew…
J.R. WardTags: blay-qhuinn
In the context of the English language, there were many more important words than “in.” There were fancy words, historic words, words that meant life or death. There were multi-syllabic tongue-twisters that required a sort out before speaking, and mission-critical pivotals that started wars or ended wars…and even poetic nonsensicals that were like a symphony as they left the lips. Generally speaking, “in” did not play with the big boys. In fact, it barely had much of a definition at all, and, in the course of its working life, was usually nothing but a bridge, a conduit for the heavy lifters in any given sentence. There was, however, one context in which that humble little two-letter, one-syllable jobbie was a BFD. Love. The difference between someone “loving” somebody versus being “in love” was a curb to the Grand Canyon. The head of a pin to the entire Midwest. An exhale to a hurricane.
J.R. WardTags: blaylock blay-qhuinn
I want to be with you, too,” he said.
“I’ll come to your room after dawn.”
Qhuinn didn’t want to ask. Had to. “What about Saxton?”
“He’s gone on vacation.”
Reaaaaaaaaaaaaaally. “For how long?”
“Just a couple of days.” Too bad. Any chance of an extension…for like a year or two? Maybe forever?
“Okay, it’s a—” Qhuinn stopped himself before he finished that with date.
There was no sense kidding himself. Saxton was away. Blay wanted to get laid. And Qhuinn was more than willing to supply the male with what he wanted.
Tags: blay blaylock qhuinn-and-blay blay-qhuinn
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