Arms still crossed, Lindsay's clogs tapped on the sidewalk. __o Sam didn__ tell you I was a desperate orphan child with no life outside of work? This isn__ some kind of intervention, some kind of lame attempt to cheer me up?_ He grinned.__hy would she do that?_ __ecause that__ how it sounded._ Nudging her shoulder, he grinning down at her. __ou don__ look desperate, Dr. Lindsay, not by a long shot." __hat__ because you don__ know me._ Lindsay bit her lower lip, arms still crossed, clogs still tap-tap-tapping. Her chest heaved. __y parent__ died in a car accident almost two years ago. It__ a difficult thing to get over. I__ still not exactly right. I guess she worries about me._ Ty sucked in his breath, thinking fast. ____ really sorry about your parents, Linds._ As he put an arm around her shoulder, she broke into a self-conscious smile and shook her head. __pend any time with me at all and you__l find that Sam__ right. I__ a desperate orphan child, completely paranoid and irrepressibly horny._ __hoa!_ She looked so cute, but vulnerable, too. He closed the arm around her shoulder, squeezing her sideways to his chest. Embarrassed, she smiled as she elbowed his rib. Then she dropped her arms and stayed put, tucked close against him. It felt right, having her there.

The open zipper at the bottom revealed two important details: her ass was as luscious as he had imagined, and she wasn't wearing any panties. His palms started to sweat. How was he supposed to fasten her dress when all he wanted to do was tear it off?

I felt a little guilty about jangling the poor bugger's brains with that evil fantasy. But what the hell? Anybody who wanders around the world saying, "Hell yes, I'm from Texas," deserves whatever happens to him.

If we loved Steve Aylett, really loved him in the way that he deserves, a selfless love that genuinely wanted nothing save his happiness and comfort, we'd lobotomise him.

One thing that's good about procrastination is that you always have something planned for tomorrow

The streak of bleach in my hair is as obvious as ever. Am I really going out in public like this? I push my hair backward and forward a few times - but I can't hide it. Maybe I could walk along with my hand carelessly positioned at my head, as if I'm thinking hard. I attempt a few casual, pensive poses in the mirror."Is your head all right?"I swivel round in shock to see Nathaniel at the open door, wearing a plaid shirt and jeans."Er...fine," I say, my hand still glued to my head. "I was just..."Oh, there's no point. I bring my hand down from my hair and Nathaniel regards the streak for a moment."It looks nice," he says. "Like a badger.""A badger?" I say, affronted. "I don't look like a badger.""Badgers are beautiful creatures," says Nathaniel with a shrug. "I'd rather look like a badger than a stoat.