I called Vee. "How are you doing?" I asked. "Good. How are you?" "Good." Silence. "Okay," Vee said in a rush, "I am still totally freaked out. You?" "Totally.

He's got the whole bad-boy-in-need-of-redemption thing going on, but the catch is, most bad boys don't want redemption. They like being bad. They like the power they get from striking fear and panic into the hearts of mothers everywhere

I take that back. If Hank wants to shoot Scott, he has my blessing.

If we hooked up, he could write me ballads and stuff. You gotta admit, nothing's sexier than a guy who writes music.

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.

He tasted deeper, holding himself over me, and suddenly he was everywhere; his knee trapping my leg, his lips grazing warm, rough, sensuous. He splayed his hand at the small of my back, holding me tightly, driving me to sink my fingers deeper into him, clinging to him as if letting go would mean losing part of myself.

I shouldn't have been looking at lingerie. It naturally made me think about sexy things. Like kissing. Like Patch.