Denny Wyatt: friend. Denny, who sleeps in threadbare tees that smell like his cigarettes, who coats his arms in the guts of engines, who kisses like he's sampling you, scenting you, until you forget that there are things you can't afford to forget. Denny Wyatt: with benefits. It's not dating. You've both done enough of that. You're both stuck in this town, you're both going nowhere, but at night, you have each other. It's sex. It's an arrangement. It suits you both. Denny Wyatt: yours. Tonight, the lie shatters. Denny Wyatt is so much more than friend, than lover, than any one word. But you'd better speak—better find the words—or he's gone.
Author
G. B. Lindsey was born and raised in California, where she earned her undergraduate degree from UC Santa Cruz before moving to Northern England for her master’s. Her first love has always been writing: as a child, she cultivated such diverse goals as becoming “a cowgirl... and a writer” or “a paleontologist... and a writer.” Aside from her salacious ongoing affair with the horror genre, she engages in dedicated flings with sci-fi, romance, historical fiction, and short stories. Other hobbies include singing, the occasional period drama movie night, and devouring scary film after scary film. When she’s not working in kidney transplant or studying up on Arthurian myth, she relaxes at home in California with a good book and her cat, Hadrian.
