Chapter 9: What Not to SayStafford knew he was in no condition to talk. He hadn’t slept last night. He had buried his mother less than a week ago, and gone through many of her personal belongings just today. He had had wine and coffee, and driven over the Bay Bridge twice in one day. Not to mention that he was some odd combination of turned on and pissed off, and this super handsome man in the passenger seat who was wearing some sort of cologne that Stafford thought should probably be illegal because of the way it was making him feel, was saying archaic s**t about making him his own, and Stafford didn’t know whether to be flattered and turned on, or pissed off and offended, and he was pretty sure that he was all of the above.
“You know saying that you want to make someone your own comes a
