Kristen Granata

I arch an eyebrow as my gaze roams over the cop’s son.

He towers over me. With a square jaw and dark features, he bears a strong resemblance to his father—except for his thick brown hair, which is unfortunate for him because he won’t be keeping much of it

I arch an eyebrow as my gaze roams over the cop’s son.

He towers over me. With a square jaw and dark features, he bears a strong resemblance to his father—except for his thick brown hair, which is unfortunate for him because he won’t be keeping much of it

“And there’s supposed to be an apology in there somewhere,” his father whispers loud enough for me to hear.

James’s jaw tics before he sets his eyes on me. “I’m sorry for scaring you.”

Is there a term for resting bitch face for men?

He shakes his head. “Guests don’t help.”

“I’m your neighbor, not Queen Elizabeth.”

“Is there a difference? A guest is a guest.”

“Would you believe me if I told you I went to an underground fight club and got my ass kicked by the female version of Thor?”

“I… I don’t even know where to start.”

I chuckle. “Well, it’s true. She beat me pretty good.”

“Of course she did. You don’t have any fighting skills.”

You think he hands out puppies to everyone like Oprah?”

I’ve got my own damn six.

Stop making ourselves the victims in our own lives, and start being the warriors we are.

“I never say never to anything in life. You don’t know where life will take you, or how you’ll grow and change, or who you’ll meet.