If we hooked up, he could write me ballads and stuff. You gotta admit, nothing’s sexier than a guy who writes music.
Being nice? He’s being horny.
If I need romance, that’s what Netflix is for.
Nothing makes me happy quite like a boatload of freshly fried fast food, smothered in good old MSG.
My life sucks when I’m only half-aware of it. If I quit drinking and saw what it’s really like, I’d probably jump off a bridge.
I’m a private contractor now. I choose my clients, not the other way around.
Nora: I have questions. Patch: I should have known you’ve only been keeping me around for answers. Nora: Well, that and your kisses. Anyone ever tell you you’re an incredible kisser?
You want a blood relative to lead your army? Get Marcie. She likes ordering people around. She’ll be a natural.
I felt his eyes devour me as I moved around the room. He assessed me head to toe without blinking, and a hot ache shivered through me. A kiss would’ve been less intimate.
I wanted to imprint his touch, his taste, even the scent of him so solidly inside me that no one could take them away from me.
You find the wrong boy, you ask for trouble. You find the right boy, you find love.
Nora: What are you planning? Patch: I wouldn’t call this planning. I’d call this throwing a Hail Mary with seconds left on the clock.
I’m doing boy detox. Like a diet, only for my emotional health.
Chauncey seethed at the outrageous insult. “And your father?” he demanded, extending the sword. He didn’t yet know all his vassals, but he was learning. He would brand the family name of this boy to memory.
Humans are vulnerable, because they’re capable of being hurt.
Strangely enough, it wasn’t Gabe who was haunting my thoughts, though. That job belonged to a pair of sinfully black eyes that had lost their edge when they studied me, turning as soft and sultry as silk.
We touched base at several strategic locations down our bodies, and it took all my willpower to break away.
Light had a way of keeping the monsters of my imagination at bay.
I’m not leaving until you tell me why you followed me. I know I’m a fascinating guy, but this is starting to feel like an unhealthy obsession.
I was just about to ask you the same thing. I know you followed me. Don’t look so suprised. It’s called a rearview mirror. Are you stalking me for a specific reason?
Busted. I’m a monster. Jev is my deceptively harmless-and shockingly handsome-alter ego.