I don't feel like working right now...so I wrote this instead. Hope you enjoy!

"The eyes are the windows to the soul" is perhaps the most overused quote in literary history. I'll pick up new books by fledgling authors at the rare publishing event and cringe when I find those words on the page. I'll cringe, close the book, flip it over, and think, "this poor sap better have a marketable skill, because he sure won't be writing anymore."

Yet here I am, sitting in front of my next manuscript waxing poetic about eyes.

I'll have to go back and delete the last two pages when I come to my senses again. Like a complete writing noob – yes, I deserve that term – I've wasted the last two hours of valuable typing time on Nikki Heat's freaking eyes.

Which means I've spent the last two hours drooling like a prepubescent over Kate Beckett's eyes.

Her hazel eyes.

Yes, that's the proper term for them, the one the DMV would have put on her driver's license. Her eyes are hazel, almost dark enough to just be considered brown. And yet, they're magically not brown. They change color according to her mood.

Esposito made the mistake of calling them green today. That's what has me thinking about this – it's all his fault. He inferred that her eyes were green, she took offense. Actually, she just glared at him. And her eyes turned green somewhere in that middle of that cold stare, which sort of proved his point, but really just made him shut up. I'm not sure she took offense. I think she just used it as another excuse to make him squirm.

It works on perps. She'll have them in interrogation, at the point in which most less than intelligent crooks start looking a little battered from tripping over the facts. Then the magic happens: she leans forward just slightly, her nostrils flare a little, and her eyes turn from a very hot brown to the most intoxicating green I will ever see in a split second. That's when I know she has them. That's when I know they'll do anything she wants. I live for those moments.

I hear a soft knock. I leave my languishing manuscript to its own devices for a moment to answer the door. I'm amazed to find her standing there, as late as it is. I start to ask what's wrong…

…but I stop when my gaze meet hers. All thoughts and oxygen and free will are sucked out of the room and into her eyes.

Her green eyes.