“Here's to responsibility," he toasted. "Twice a week.""And recklessness every day in between," I emphasized.He grinned and touched his can to mine.”

“Here's to responsibility, twice a week.',”

“He grinned when I didn't protest, and lowered his mouth toward mine. The first touch was just that - a touch. A teasing, tempting softness. I licked my lips and Patch's grin deepened."More?" he asked.I curled my hands into his hair, pulling him closer. "More.”

“He kept his eyes on mine, his gaze unblinking, and I stared right back into the blue. He moved almost imperceptibly and in the space between a heartbeat his lips touched mine.”

“It wasn't a question, but a warning. He grinned when I didn't protest, and lowered his mouth towards mine. The first touch was just that- a touch. A teasing, tempting softness. I licked my lips and Patch's grin deepened. "More?" he asked. I curled my hands into his hair, pulling him closer. "More.”

“An old drinking buddy of mine had come home from a two-week binge with a rose tattooed on his arm. Around the blossom was written Fuck ‘em all/and sleep till noon. His wife made him have it surgically removed, but she hated the scar even more. Every time he touched it, he grinned. Some years later she tried to remove the grin with a wine bottle, but she only knocked out a couple of teeth, which made the grin even more like a sneer. The part that I don’t understand, though, is that they are still married. He is still grinning and she is still hating it.”