And how old are you, Miss Beckett?”
“Seventeen.”
“What!” There is no way she’s seventeen. I inspect her face, studying it intently, but don’t know what it is I hope to find. Laugh lines maybe?
She watches my face. “Is my age a problem for you?”
“Hell, yeah, seventeen is a problem.” I throw my napkin on the table. All of this has been a waste. “Forget it all. This whole thing is off.”
“I don’t act seventeen. I’m very mature for my age.”
“No way. You’re not even old enough to be drinking that wine.” I lean in and whisper so no one will overhear. “I’m almost twice your age.”
“I don’t mind. I have daddy issues.” She breaks into a huge grin and I hear a girlish giggle. That’s when I realize she’s fucking with me and has the ability to lie with a straight face. I’ll have to remember that for future reference.
I’m not amused. “I see I have a comedienne on my hands.

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If I do this, something will go wrong and this man will hurt me. I know it as sure as I’m sitting here next to him feeling how much he makes me want to say yes.

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Are you missing your filter, or is it an Aussie thing to blurt out every inappropriate thought you have?

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Liar, liar. My pants are so on fire. And so is the rest of me.

Georgia Cates


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Oh, fuck me running! Or on the edge of your bed using your mouth.

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I might not get what I want out of her by asking, but I have other methods of making this little bird sing.

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This game has changed. The rules are no longer the same, but I don't have the manual. He does, and I need guidance on where to go from here.

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I didn't love you the day I met you, or even a month later. But somewhere between hello and the goodbye I'm unable to bear

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There is evil fuckery afoot here.

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I have to stop this. As much as I'd like to, I can't sit in my car outside the studio and mind-fuck Jack Henry all day.

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