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“Shy, all those things you listed don’t make a person. They don’t. I mean it. You’re beautiful, both inside and outside, but please don’t look at me to validate that. You have to know it for yourself. -Taylor Holden, Strapped.”
― Nina G. Jones, Strapped

“The click of the seat belt securing into the buckle is the only sound to break the awkward silence. I feel his warm breath on my neck as he reaches and I take a deep nervous inhale. His scent fills my nose, it is clean and warm, just like in the coffee shop. The smell of his skin is delicious. I try to stop these thoughts, but they are invading my brain in a way that has never happened to me before. Not even with...Rick. I try push him back out of my mind at this moment because I feel a sense of guilt. Rick and I are frozen. That’s the only way I can describe us. He is faithful, he is steady, he is nice, but he is not like this man in front of me: new, mysterious, and unpredictable. Rick and I are in a state of comfort, but like much of my life, I am becoming more and more discontent with comfort.”
― Nina G. Jones, Strapped

“Tracey hurriedly shut the door behind her to prevent the flames that had been licking hungrily at her caboose all the way down the corridor, from following her inside. Then, almost falling into one of the gravity couches, she hurriedly strapped herself into it before punching the emergency release. She hoped the escape system still worked. It did. The explosive dead-bolts fired, shaking the pod loose, dislodging it from the rapidly disintegrating wreck, just about shaking the crap out of her on its bone-jarring way into the great wide open.”
― Christina Engela, Prodigal Sun