I still can’t look at her. Really, when you’re talking to someone, you shouldn’t be able to see their brain through their forehead; it’s just rude.

I glance at the stump that remains of my arm. “Damn it, Megan. You made me forget my hand!

I try to thank him and my jaw falls off.

I’ll be damned,” I say, then realize I kinda already am.

He’s going to join, so you must like him. We must all like each other because that’s the rule,” declares Rone. “That’s the rule I made up just now.

I’m as flirty as a spatula. And there’s nothing sexy about a spatula.

And you, Scott?”Scott’s me. I’m Scott. Hi. “I don’t care what it is,” I answer. “Something with an umbrella in it.”I’m trying to “let go” and trust Ollie with the choice of beverage.

I grin. “It’s just a party,” I assure her. “Nothin’ big.”“There ain’t nothin’ that happens on this ranch that’s organized by your mama that ain’t big. That woman’s about as subtle as a shotgun.”“A shotgun can be subtle if it ain’t bein’ fired,” I point out.She narrows her eyes. I think she’s about to quip back with something super sassy, but then a smile wrinkles up her face. “You sayin’ I’m better off to keep the shotgun from firin’?”“I’m sayin’ quit playin’ with the trigger, Grandma.

When his shirt is tugged up halfway up his torso to his chest, Jimmy follows the lead by lifting off of me to allow the shirt over his head and off his arms, where it's then flung away, never to be heard from again, and he's on my lips once more.But shirtless now.Good Lord, Jimmy, and it ain't even my birthday.

I'm apparently in love with a thirteen-year-old who makes lewd sex jokes in public, shamelessly plays footsy with me under the table the whole time I'm trying to enjoy my shrimp scampi, and is insatiably horny at all hours of the day.