Are you crazy?" I said. "Crazy about you." "Patch!" "Don't worry, we've got time." "How do you know?" He staggered back a step, with his hand over his heart. "Your lack of faith hurts.

I'm not the distraction in the room.' 'Oh? And what might be?' -Nora & Patch (PG 242)

Hang on, did you just call me Angel?" I asked. "If I did?" "I don't like it." He grinned. "It stays, Angel.

It’s brown.” So maybe I had the teeniest, tiniest, most infinitesimal amount of auburn in my hair. I was still a brunette. “It’s the lighting,” I said. “Yeah, maybe it’s the lightbulbs.” His smile brought up both sides of his mouth, and a dimple surfaced.

Father' is such an arbitary word. Douche bag, on the other hand.

As in, I wouldn't know normal if it marched up and poked me in the eye.

I’m doing boy detox. Like a diet, only for my emotional health.