“He’s good at this stuff.”“What stuff?”“Relationship stuff. He’s a natural. It’s weird, we’re new and we’re old. I can’t get my head around it.”“He’s shit at relationship stuff. He’s only good at it because it’s you.”“Sorry?”“You’re shit at it too, but only because it was never him.”

“What other stuff do they teach you at federal agent school?” I ask. It shouldn’t bother me that he’s fitting in so well. So what if he’s faking it? Good for him. I guess what bothers me is him faking it better than I am.”

“Jaz is their drummer. He’s pretty damn good too. Hell, he’s pretty damn good at everything he’s ever tried. Creative little shit.”

“It’s like he has this power over me—like I have an eating disorder and he’s a package of Oreo Double Stuff cookies.”

“Again Al touched me, but this time, his hand was gentle on my shoulder. “And if you’re not, it’s Ku’Sox. He knows you’re too protected here, and you’re a threat to him. He’s summoning you. He’s summoning you to where I can’t follow. He’s going to try to kill you!”

“Aw, he’s shy. How loveable, huggable, stuff-in-a-bag-and-take-home-able.”