“Why was he here? Why was he always, always, always around? Didn’t he have a life? Didn’t he have anything better to do?”

“She asked him if he could teleport. (He could.) She asked him if he had superhuman strength. (He did.)She asked him if he enjoyed the taste of human blood. (He didn’t.) She asked him why he was always being depicted as having the head of a goat in the movies. (He wondered about that, too.)”

“Why do you always answer questions with questions?”“Why don’t you shut up and kiss me?”She didn’t have to ask twice.”

“Why is he still here?" she asked, pointing to Tristan. A muscle flexed in his scruffy jaw. Why did he always have sexy scruff. Did the man not own a razor?”

“People fell in love, and lost, and moved on. He didn’t know why he couldn’t. He didn’t know why he didn’t even want to. All he knew was that whatever he had to owe to Hell or Heaven for this chance, he was going to make it count.”

“If there was a God up there, which there wasn’t, why was it that he worked so hard to identify whatever thing a man dreaded most, and, having identified it, why did he always, always, vindictively succeed in making that very thing come to pass?”