Page 49 of Mafia Wedding

Is it just me, or has his voice turned unnaturally thick?

"Do you have any hard limits?"

And getting thicker by the second, too.

"Or can I really do anything I want with you? And to you?"

I finally realize that the thickness of his voice is all due to lust, and since I find it rather marvelously brave and indubitably crazy of him to lust after someone like me—-

"I don't think I have any hard limits, physically speaking." The least I can do is give his question serious thought and answer honestly. "But I'm not sure I'll ever be the type to scream 'I love you' when having sex?"

He starts rubbing his jaw again, and I wonder if he'll think I'm crazy if I tell him it's when he's doing that I'm likely more prone to saying those three yucky little words?

"Anything else I should know?"

"I get bored rather easily, but I can also get insatiably curious and greedy?"

"Like a cat." He purrs as he says this, and I barely manage to keep myself from rolling my eyes at the irony, which I'm sure is all deliberate on his part.

Why has no one ever told me how harder it is to date people than to kill them? Even my own family has certain lines they dare not cross in my presence, but this guy just doesn't seem scared of me in any way.

I can't read him at all, and more importantly-—

Why is he now laying a hand on his chest like he's struck by Cupid's arrow?

"You really are a girl after my own cock."

If Cupid worked for Hugh Hefner, that is.

"Or mouth."

I look at him blankly. "Come again?"

"I know our conversation has gone way off course, but surely you can't have forgotten...?"

What is this man talking about?

"You asked me to kiss you. Remember?"

Boy Meets Girl,

Girl Meets Boy

IT WAS NOT EVERYDAY that a man sentenced for life would suddenly find renewed purpose for his existence, and that was to play Cupid for the very first time in his almost sixty years of living.

The former doctor had questioned his sanity at first, naturally, and the authenticity of his "mission" second, as any man of rational thinking would do. Was this truly a calling from God, or was this just the Devil messing with his head?

Thomas prayed for guidance before finally making his decision. A murderer like him was obviously not what anyone would consider an expert on love or matrimony, but be that as it may—-

"So, uh..."

Thomas was typically a lot more eloquent than this, but as expansive as his vocabulary might be, he suddenly found himself lacking the right words to properly introduce two individuals...without fully revealing either of their identities.

And so in the end, he was left with this: "Boy, meet Girl. Girl, meet Boy."

Thomas could feel his cheeks turning ruddy as he heard Drake Morrison cough at his choice of aliases. "I know that made me sound as articulate as my grandson on his first day in preschool—-"

"Less, actually," Drake drawled.

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