(no subject)

Shit.

No, not shit. Just...

Damn.

Life -- or whatever this is -- is all kinds of fucked up.

Good, asshole. How much swearing can you fit on one page? Annie used to call me a gentleman. She was so wrong.

See, here's the thing. I thought after Julia that was it. I was done. Couple girls here and there, I'm no saint, but nothing that mattered. Because I was pretty damn sure I was done with all that. You know: falling in love, feeling butterflies, lust, whatever you want to call it.

I didn't come to this place on purpose. I don't know how I got here, I don't know why I'm here, and I don't know why I can't leave. I don't know why Beth thinks I'm worth her time. I don't feel intoxicating like she thinks. Just another goddamn bounty hunter with a bad attitude. No saint, not even in the running.

But she knows enough about my past to make her own judgments and it doesn't seem to bother her.

I'm not the type to fall in love every ten minutes. I don't do it. I shut down when Julia didn't show up that day. Or tried. Cold, cold. Chasing bounty heads is easier: life's cheap, people are money, money's food and fuel for the ships. That's all that matters when you're hunting. Predator and prey, black and white, nice and simple.

Love's complicated.

Sex isn't.

I'm not ready to be in love.

At least I don't think so.

I really like Beth.

Shit.