I leaned against the desk, ran my hand over my father’s paperwork, and picked up a pen. Turning around, I shoved it into my father’s hand.
“What’s this?” he asked, raising a brow.
“You’ll need it to sign my death certificate,” I said, pain vibrating my veins against my muscles and bones. “Are we done now?

You and I both know that love is for children,” he said. ”We’re adults. Compatibility is for adults.”

”Compatibility is for my Bluetooth and my car,” Teresa replied. ”Only they get along just fine, and my car never makes my bluetooth feel like shit.

1 2 3 4