because daytime leaves vampires less than, well, conscious, I told him, “Take your muffins to Boston and shut it, Terrance.” And then I hung up on him.

Misery, thy name is Mudslide

Stupid werewolf ninja sperm.

How much to make her go to her room and stop talking to me?” Cal asked.While I gaped at his rudeness, Gigi coughed a rather obvious “douchebag!” into her fist. I caught her eye and shook my head emphatically. Douche-coughing someone with superhearing was not a responsible choice.

I am willing to admit that Gerard Butler has single-handedly murdered the romantic comedy.”Gigi snickered. “Gerard Butler took the romantic comedy to an orgy, accidentally strangled it during an air game, panicked, and dumped its body in the woods.”I stared at her, gobsmacked. “That may be the funniest thing I've ever heard –” I spluttered. “How the hell do you even know what an air game is?”Gigi preened. “Just because you put the parental locks on HBO doesn’t mean I can’t get around them.

I don’t think I like that boy.” He growled, glaring for effect, just in case I hadn’t figured out his oh-so-subtle interpersonal cues.“He’s a sweet kid,” I insisted, folding the gray blazer over my arm.“He’s a teenage boy,” Cal said, his dark eyes narrowed. “They’re all sexual deviants under the surface. I should know. I was a teenage boy once.”“Thousands of years ago,” I countered.“Times may change, but testosterone does not.