Patch? Whatever happens, I love you." I wanted to say more, those three words painfully inadequate for the way I felt about him. And at the same time, so simple and accurate, nothing else would do.

Mr. Green Sweater looks normal, but his wingman looks hard-core bad boy,” said Vee. “Emits a certain don’t-mess-with-me signal. Tell me he doesn’t look like Dracula’s spawn. Tell me I’m imagining things.

You want me to come clean, I will. I'll tell you everything. Who I am and what I've done. Every last detail. I'll dig it all up, but you have to ask. You have to want it. You can see who I was, or you can see who I am now. I'm not good," he said, piercing me with eyes that absorbed all light but reflected none, "but I was worse.

I'm touched, Rixon. A bomb. How elaborate. Why didn't you keep things simple and just march inside my bedroom one night and put a bullet between my eyes?" Nora, Crescendo

Is everything a joke to you?” I asked. He dabbed his tongue to his lip again. “Not everything.” “Like what?” “You.

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

Whoa, who peed in your Cheerios?