“A punching bag. The guy was pounding on a punching bag. That realization took about a nanosecond to register in her brain before the real important information came to the forefront: LoriSue, God bless her slutty little soul, had been absolutely correct. He was male-stripper material, and he’d been thoughtful enough to strip to a pair of athletic shorts on his very first night in the neighborhood.”
“He had a punch like a bag full of cue balls.”
“My worst kiss could have been an outtake from Species. I think she thought my epiglottis was a punching bag.”
“Man? What man? I thought it was a punching bag!”
“How did I do that to her? Her? Punching trees and screaming? She must have been terrified.Soon his hands would heal, so he might forget the pain he’d caused her. He’d left her in the woods. Left her. Watching her find her car and punch it with the same delicate hand she’d put so trustingly in his was too much.”
“God picked me to be his punching bag...so who am I suposed to pray to for mercy?”