“So, you’re hitting on Clare the Fair.”“I’m not hitting on her. I’m exploring the possibility of seeing her on social terms.”“He’s hitting on her,” Owen said around a mouthful of chips. “You’ve still got that thing you had for her back in high school. Are you still writing bad song lyrics about heartbreak?”“Suck me. And they weren’t that bad.”“Yeah, they were,” Ryder disagreed. “But at least now we don’t have to listen to you playing your keyboard and howling them down the hall.”

“Nothing. I wanted to hit him but hitting a masochist is pretty pointless. Wesley?” She finally looked him full in his face. For a moment his brown eyes turned silver and she saw Michael’s face floating in front of her. “What if I’m a bad person, too?”“You’re not a bad person. If you were a bad person you wouldn’t be sitting fully dressed in a bathtub with no water in it because you’re terrified you might be a bad person. The devil doesn’t worry about going to hell.”“Only because he’s already there.”

“You remind me of someone with a bad toothache who's hitting herself in the head with a hammer to distract herself from the pain in her mouth.”

“Look, I’ve got her, I’m carrying her, and I’m taking her to the hospital. So you can back off and let me do what I’m going to do, or you can get your ass kicked and I’m still going to do what I’m going to do. Your choice.”

“Cash, you can’t have me, I’m not yours to have,” she told him, her voice now sounding a wee bit desperate. His mouth came back to hers and she felt that he was still smiling. “Oh yes, darling, you are,” he said there and he kissed her.”

“She decided to be honest. “You”—she pointed at Dee-Ann—“kill at the slightest provocation. I hit for no other reason than I feel like it. And MacDermot is rude and abrasive.” Cella put her arms around each woman’s shoulders and hugged them in tight. “Oh, my God! I just realized. I love you guys!”“You’re touchin’ me,” Dee-Ann complained.“Yeah, but at least this time it’s not ’cause I’m hitting you.”