“Dark hair fell in a sweep over his forehead. He looked like a man who would write vers libre, as indeed he did.”

“Once, I cut off a man's head, but he did not know it until he tried to brush his hair. Then it fell off.”

“He looked like he always did. Jeans and a black Foo Fighters t-shirt, his hair lay over his forehead and around his ears. I pushed my hand through it."It's perfect. It's you."He grinned, shaking his head."Zeke told me to wear leather, lots of it.""And you're rebelling?" I said through a laugh."I'm telling him to subtly screw himself.”

“I wished Graves would look at me. But he just stood there, glaring out from under his hair. I'm sure he could have painted fuck-off on his forehead and it would have been more subtle.”

“John Cusack is standing over there.”I followed his incredulous gaze to where a man very like Mr. Cusack did indeed stand, smoking a cigarette as he leaned against a building. I sighed.“That’s not John Cusack. That’s Jerome.”“Seriously?”“Yup. I told you he looked like John Cusack.”“Keyword: looked. That guy doesn’t look like him. That guy is him.”

“You’re beautiful.” His words warmed her skin and tugged at her heart, and this time she believed he meant what he said. He rested his forehead against her, his dark hair in stark contrast to her white flesh. “I knew you would be. I’ve always known. Always.”