Keitha Cook

“I’m hungry,” Jason grumbled as he stared at the empty plates on his small
coffee table.
Brad groaned, “You practically ate both plates of cookies. How in the hell are
you hungry?”
Jason shrugged leaning back in his chair to watch the game. “I just am.
Leave me the hell alone I’m a growing boy, damn it!”
“Yeah, a growing thirty-one year old boy,” Brad mumbled.
“I’m still growing damn it so shut the hell up and feed me!”
“Order something and stop bitching!” Brad snapped.
“You order something. I’m too weak to move.”
― R.L. Mathewson, Playing for Keeps

“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.”
― Georgia Cates, Beauty from Pain

“For God's sake, don't let her watch Cinderella. What kind of example is that? A mindless twit who can't even remember where she left her damn shoe, so she has to wait for some douchebag in tights to bring it to her? Give me a frigging break!”
― Emma Chase, Tangled

“Hey! I thought you said you were gay!” the man said accusingly.
Without missing a beat Jason said, “She is. I’m just her bitch.”
― R.L. Mathewson, Playing for Keeps