Anthony raised his red plastic cup to me and shouted something, but it was too hard to hear over the music. “What?” I called back. “You look great!” A goofy smile was plastered on his face. “Oh boy,” Vee said. “Not just a pimp, but a smashed pimp.” “So maybe he’s a little drunk.” “Drunk and hoping to corner you alone in a bedroom upstairs.” Ugh.

This is crazy," I told Patch in an undertone. "I'm crazy." He was on the brink of smiling again. "About you.

Don’t start. I saw Marcie climb inside your Jeep.” “She needed a ride.” I adopted a hands-on-hips pose. “What kind of ride?” “Not that kind of ride,” he said slowly.

I tended to be more a romantic than a realist, and chose blind faith over cold logic.

actions speak louder than words

Let me show you,” he said in my ear. “Like this. Feel that? Relax. Now pivot your hips—it’s all in the hips.

This was it. Together. Forever. As we left it all behind, the sun warmed my back, lighting the way before us. I knew of no better omen.