Francesca Costa

“You should go order a sweet roll. Those are to die for. And a carne adovada burrito."

His mouth thinned. "Should I order something else to drink?"

"Yes! A diet whatever. No! A mocha latte. No!" I held up my hand to put him in pause so I could think. "Yes, a mocha latte."

"Are you finished?" he asked, rising to go place his order. He was really hungry.

"Yes. No! Yes. I'm good with that. I have a busy afternoon ahead of me, and I need all the energy I can get. And I need you to be my wingman."

"This should be interesting," he said, sauntering off like he owned the place.

By the time he got back, his fries had disappeared. It was weird.”
― Darynda Jones, Sixth Grave on the Edge

“The next thing I remembered was Reyes smiling down at me as the sun filtered into his apartment, his hair mussed, his lids hooded with the thick remnants of sleep. I stretched as those three little words that every girl longs to hear slipped from his mouth with effortless ease. As though they did every day. As though they didn't mean the world to me.

With one corner of his mouth tipping sensually, he asked, "Want some coffee?"

And I fell.

I fell hard.”
― Darynda Jones, Sixth Grave on the Edge

“Reyes. Alexander. Farrow," I said.

Seconds after I spoke his name, Reyes walked into his bedroom, and I looked across the open space directly from my room into his.

He waited for me to continue.

"I feel like there's something missing from my bedroom."

A dimple appeared at the corner of his mouth. "You don't say."

"Any idea what that might be?"

He glanced around my room as well, then shrugged. "I can't imagine."

"Oh, wait," I said, stepping from my room into his, "wasn't there something here? Like, I don't know, a wall or something?"

He looked up. "You could be right. I do seem to remember a barrier of some kind here."

"Yep," I said, stepping closer, "I definitely remember a partition separating our apartments." When his only response was a mischievous tilt of his full mouth, I asked, "Where did you put my wall?"

He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against his doorframe. "What makes you think I took it?"

"It was there this morning."

"And that means I took it? Maybe you just misplaced it. Where exactly did you see it last?"

I pressed my lips together. "You tore down my wall."

The smile he wore could've charmed the panties off a nun. Completely unrepentant, he admitted, "I tore down your wall.”
― Darynda Jones, Sixth Grave on the Edge

“Oh, my. What a lovely shade of bitch you're wearing today. --T-SHIRT”
― Darynda Jones, Sixth Grave on the Edge