Are we going to have to teach you to fight, Angel?

If I need romance, that's what Netflix is for.

Because I thought I was in love. And when you think you're in love, you are willing to stick it out and make it work until it is love.

Don't blame me. Tell your mom to move closer. Tell her there's this new club called civilization and you guys should join.

Heat flushed Chauncey's neck; it took all his energy to curl his hands into two weak fists. He laughed at himself, but there was no humor. He had no idea how, but the boy was inflicting the nausea and weakness inside him. It would not lift until he took the oath. He would say what he had to, but he swore in his heart he would destroy the boy for this humiliation.

I tilted my chin up a fraction. "You can't f-force me to stay here." I'd only agreed to come this far because I didn't want to stand out in the downpour, for one, and I had high hopes of finding a phone, for two. "That sounded more like a question than a statement," said Patch. "Then ans-s-swer it." His rogue smile crept out. "It's hard to concentrate on answers with you looking like that." I glanced down at Patch's black shirt, wet and clinging to my body. I brushed past him and shut the bathroom door between us.

Shh!" the guy beside me hissed again. "Blame him," I told the guy, pointing at Patch. The guy craned his neck back. "Listen," he said, facing me again. "If you don't quiet down, I'll get security." "Fine, go get security. Tell them to take him away," I said, again signaling Patch. "Tell them he wants to kill me." "I want to kill you," hissed the guy's girlfriend.