It's not like I wrote my freaking name on you, Sam. If anybody asks, just tell them some hot cheerleader made a pass at you or something.

[He could still see Sam in the mirror and his brother wasn't walking away. He didn't even look like he wanted to haul off and deck him, which was a very good thing.]

[His mouth was opening to say some smart-ass thing when he suddenly had a hand in his hair and Sam's mouth on his neck. Almost all higher brain function ceased. His hand came up to cup the back of Sam's neck and his words came out in a breathy groan.] Write you a poem next time...