Stinger Twilight Hunger (Wings in the Night #7)
Rosa’s expression suddenly turned fierce. Did you kill the bastards?
Jagger chewed another bite. Dude, Sam has always been a girl. You said you were cool with this.Grayson flipped out his phone and flicked through screens. No. Let me read these. ‘Hey man, is it cool if our friend Sam takes the other bedroom? We’re old friends from Colorado, and Josh is cool with it.’
The Nightmare Dilemma (The Arkwell Academy #2)
I took my prized K-cups to the machine. If I was putting up with this bullshit, I was sure as hell going to need coffee. Yep, I’m Sam, short for Samantha, a.k.a. the friend from Colorado.I tilted my head and smirked. Apparently.You’re not sleeping with either of them.
Je Suis à Toi (Monsters in the Dark #3.5)
And I just… He squeezed those amazing eyes shut and took a breath before opening them again. Samantha, I’m incredibly sorry for what I implied.But if you could put some clothes on, that’d be great.
So much for him removing the stick from his ass. He nodded his head, pursed those beautiful lips, and retreated toward the front door, muttering something about the gym.
Jagger’s grin was a step past shit-eating to downright comical. No clue, but that’s the most worked up I’ve ever seen the guy, and I’ve lived with him for almost a year. Way to go, Sam.The butterflies I re-created from Finn’s crib mobile still hung in the trees outside her door, although a little more sparse than I had originally laid out. A few lay on the ground and I scooped them up.
Her apartment was stuffy and airless. I left the door open to let the cool inside and sat on her sofa, remembering how tense I’d been that first time I came over, when she’d asked for me.Why had she texted me that night? There were so many things about her I didn’t know, places she’d been that I’d never go or understand.
Shameless (The House of Rohan #4)
I caught a whiff of something foul and moved to the kitchen, pulling the trash bag from the bin. I spotted a plate I remembered from our apartment, a ceramic fish painted by a neighbor. I set the bag down and picked up the plate. Corabelle wouldn’t serve fish on it, saying it was cannibalistic somehow, but I could picture cookies stacked on it, and orderly rows of crackers and squares of cheese from when someone came over to study.I wondered what else she had, flipping open a few cabinets. I left every single thing behind, all my clothes, my toothbrush, everything I owned except my laptop and backpack, which had been in my car when I took off from the funeral. I had started over literally from scratch, but Corabelle had retained the detritus of our lives together.
I couldn’t find anything interesting, so I picked up the trash bag again, jumping back when a wet drop hit my shoe. A green liquid oozed from several holes in the bottom of the sack. Cheap bags. I opened her pantry and searched for a box of them to double bag it so I didn’t leave a trail through her apartment. I found a neatly folded stack of them, and tugged the first one off the top, snapping it open.As the sack fitted over the other, I realized it, too, had holes. What was that all about? I examined them, realizing they were perfect punctures, done on purpose. I returned to the pantry and pulled another one from the stack. Also riddled with them. Every bag had been tampered with.
Attached to the door was one of those stick-on closet organizers designed to hold plastic grocery bags to be reused. It was stuffed full of sacks. I pulled one out and held it up to the overhead light.I pulled out bag after bag, and they were all the same. Careful punctures at the bottom of each one.
What was Corabelle doing? She didn’t have a cat to get tangled in one and suffocate. Obviously she didn’t have a child. And either way, it was an obsessive thing to do.I stuffed the sacks back in the little bin and folded the trash bags as best I could. I wiped up the floor with paper towels and held the bag sideways to keep the worst of it from dripping.