Kristina

“it appeared that a streamer machine had vomited everywhere”
― D. H. Starr, Wrestling with Desire

“...doing the smoker's comedy act: he hunted automatically for an ashtray, didn't find one, tipped his ashes into the palm of his hand,...”
― Patricia Nell Warren

“I love you,” I sighed, unable to keep the smile from my face, leaning back and looking at him through heavy-lidded eyes. “I really do.”
“I know,” he grunted, very pleased with himself. “You can’t live without me. I’m like cheese.”
It took a second to process his comment. “I’m sorry, cheese?”
“Sure. Air’s overrated. Try living without cheese.”
The man was insane, which, it turned out, was just perfect for me.”
― Mary Calmes

“Well, make up your mind. I don’t have all night.” Fidelia set her beer on the porch and removed a set of keys from her skirt pocket. She fumbled with the key, trying to release the trigger lock on her pistol.
“Don’t do that,” Heather warned her. “You’ve had too much to drink.”
Fidelia snorted. “I’m not drunk. I’m in complete control.” She tore off the trigger lock.
Bang! The gun fired, ripping into a nearby oak tree.
The women screamed. Jean-Luc winced.
A squirrel plummeted from the tree and landed in the yard with a thud.
Fidelia shrugged. “I meant to do that. Damned rodent’s been gnawing on the house. And stealing all the nuts from our pecan tree.”
Heather planted her hands on her hips. “Haven’t I told you a million times to keep the locks on?”
Fidelia hung her head, looking properly remorseful. “I’ll be more careful.” She switched on the safety, then shot Jean-Luc a pointed look. “I know how to deal with a scumbag with nuts.”
― Kerrelyn Sparks, The Undead Next Door