Strangers had always turned me on, the idea of never having to see them again the biggest aphrodisiac I’d ever encountered. Until I met Frank. This was the first time I’d ever found a man even sexier after getting to know him. Everything he did enticed me, from the way he tried to conceal his accent by speaking certain words extra carefully, to how helpless he looked beyond the anger when he was really bothered by something. I was wholeheartedly in love, and it was only getting worse the better I got to know him.
I'm well and truly at a loss of what to say about this book. I'm just too awed by it and in love to say anything remotely constructive. All I can do is say go read Rosa's review
, offer up some more quotes, reiterate that this book was bloody (heh) fantastic and that you should read it whoever you are.
Bullets, like cocks, came in a variety of different sizes and lengths but were all more or less the same shape. Or rather, the round was like a cock, cartridge and bullet and gunpowder, and the bullet was just the projectile. Like sperm. But Frank didn't say all that. He just went through a lot of numbers from the metric system, which basically came down to the bigger the bullet the more likely it'll kill you, hollow points were fucking evil, and blanks had no projectile, or sperm, hence the phrase shooting blanks. Like I said, guns made sense to me.
I'd had more practice with the rifle than my own gun, since we'd been using it for the majority of our hits. And since he'd planned to pawn all his sniper jobs off on me from the very beginning. Not to mention that it put me in a great position to be mounted.
Yeah, I'm pretty sure if I was ever to experience some of these things Vincent is, then I'd have a much better understanding of guns too. Eventually.