There was only one thing left to ask Garrett. I was worried he'd answer no and even more terrified he'd answer yes. I set my empty glass down and glanced out the window before turning my attention back to him. The last of my wine had failed to budge the lump of...
"Please Nona, please Nona, please Nona, please." Shit. I hate that kinda talk. Beggin' for it; whining, wheedling, like the world's gonna end if the bastard doesn't get him some. Not from me, no way. That isn't my style. I'd never be rid of a guy like that. Give him...
I do it because he asks me to. Even though it's him, I'm shy at first and lie with my back to him, a leg forward, relaxing. He can't see me, not my face. He doesn't know I can see him in the fragment of mirror that is not crowded by the tangle of clothes strewn over...
Sandie was my type of woman: alone, a little drunk, more than a little overweight and flashing her flabby flesh like a fritzing neon sign on a rundown whorehouse. She was a fading thirty-something still trying to convince herself that she hadn't changed since she'd...
Maggie brushed her palms across the gray hair above Duncan's ears. She cherished the contrast between his boyish barber cut and his bristly old-man hair, between his soft skin and sandpaper stubble. As she pressed her lips to his cheek, she tasted the remains of...
I fled to the A'dam in August, to escape the madness and rain of London. It is now early autumn, and I sit with the tall windows open, looking out at the canal: the streets are dusty and littered with dry leaves and bits of paper. I have been writing and painting in a...
She was Amarind. But he didn't know that yet. He saw her and nothing came to him and he looked away. Then back. The sort of chick you meet at a bar and at first sight you know her and know everything about her - what she thinks and wants, the what-she-did-yesterdays...
I fucked my way to the top. Not many women admit that these days, if they ever did. But I'm sure, despite changes in how we look at men and women, work and power, that a lot of women—and maybe some men, too—still do it. You grab your chances any way you can, and...
"I like too many things and get all confused and hung up running from one falling star to another till I drop. This is the night, what it does to you. I had nothing to offer anybody except my own confusion." —Jack Kerouac He was a good guy really. As all-American as...
"Where is your wife?" She was lying on top of the blue comforter next to the window, in her cotton pajamas. Her beautiful thick hair, black and streaked with gray, was spread out over the pillow. She reached up with her hands, searching. I wonder if it's the jasmine...