8 Quotes by Deborah Wilde

What’s-his-name had started out with all the promise of a wild stallion gallop, but he’d ended up more of a gentle trot. I didn’t know if the fault lay with the jockey or the ride, but it had been a long time since I’d seen a finish line.

Mornings after sucked. Walks of shame were a necessary evil, but that didn’t mean I enjoyed shimmying back into the same trollop togs twice. I picked glitter out of my hair, then straightened my sequined top. I was officially decommissioning it. Multiple washings never quite managed to remove the lingering aura of bad decisions I made while wearing party clothes. My philosophy? Cross my fingers and hope for the most bang for the bucks spent later on new outfits.

Even though his ass extended past the seat, it was so rock hard that it didn’t droop over the sides. I checked twice to make sure.

My cheeks still bulging with wine, I properly scoped out the room. Mom? Check. Dad? Check. Ari? Check? Rabbi Abrams, here to perform the ceremony to induct my brother as the latest member in the Brotherhood of David, the chosen demon hunters? Check. I spit the wine back into what I now realized was a silver chalice and handed it to the elderly bearded rabbi. “Carry on,” I told him. Then I threw up on his shoes.

An icy slither ran up my core as I stared at my right hand, its tremors Richter scale violent. Was this my demon-killing ability? Destined to be some supernatural whore luring hell spawn into back alleys for deadly rub and tugs?

Even with all the lights off, the room was as bright and insistent as Martha Stewart’s smile.

The twin desires to both smack the smug off his face and rip off his pants to see for myself should have negated each other and yet, there they were. “Seriously, his stupid reality show Live like a King hits douchebag territory, but a demon?

The waitress arrived with Leo’s Coke and my water, asking for our orders– pulled pork poutine for me because, bad Jew, and a mushroom burger that I know Leo got so that I wouldn’t want a bite. Fungus was a medical condition to clear up with ointment, not food.