One of these days you're going to wake up," William finally said, "and I will have shaved you, Everywhere." (Paris) "Won't make a difference. Women will still want me.

you're smart, pretty, and you aren't a douche purse.

For gods' sake, Strider," Torin snapped. "Open your mouth and form some words. While you're at it, stop staring at the angel like he's a tasty treat.

He’s body slammed enough people to start a new country. And there could be a neighbouring city for the people he’s punched in the throat

Yes, you make yourself useful, angel boy. Meanwhile, I’ll be in the bathroom.” William’s jet-black hair was dripping wet and plastered to his face. There was a fluffy white towel wrapped around his waist, displaying muscles that rivaled Paris’s own, and a tattooed treasure map that led to his man junk. Looking at his, you could see the makings of a temper so savage anyone who miraculously survived an encounter with him would end up needing therapy. And diapers. “I’ve got to finish deep conditioning my hair.” Or maybe not so savage.

Giving up is the only sure way to fail.

What was worse, he couldn't tell her how much he thought he maybe might kinda sorta love her.