“If I looked like him,” Tara said. “I’d want to have sex with myself. All the time.”

“Who’s there?” “The scratcher of your itch,” he said. She opened the door a crack and stuck her nose out. “Was that supposed to be romantic?”

“Hey,” Shayne said through the door. “You going to stay in there all night, because we’re getting tired of trying to eavesdrop from out here. Can’t hear a damn thing.”

“They say money talks, but all mine ever says is 'good-bye sucker.”