...I need a boyfriend. And to get a boyfriend, you have to look good. Doesn’t hurt to smell good too.

I could get you to smile like that, and without sales tax." I whirled around to find the real Patch standing in the fitting room behind me. He was wearing jeans and a snug white tee. His arms were folded loosely over his chest, and his black eyes smiled down at me. Heat that wasn't entirely uncomfortable flushed through my body. "I could make all kinds of pervert jokes right now," I quipped.

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?

Why is Anthony Amowitz using his pimp smile on you?” “You’re only calling him a pimp because he’s here. At Marcie’s.” “Yeah, so?” “He’s being nice.” I elbowed her. “Smile back.” “Being nice? He’s being horny.

My arms hurt from how tightly Patch held me. “Now that’s what I call a scream,” he said, grinning at me.

You're mine, Angel," he murmured, brushing the words across my jawbone as I arched my neck higher, inviting him to kiss everywhere. "You have me forever.

I’m not going anywhere near a motel with you.