Where are you going?” “To get a Coke!” “Would you—” “No!

Pics or it didn't happen." "Dude, little busy for pics. You know, throwing flame.

You know what I mean. And by the way, you should slow down.” I sighed. “You’re kidding me. This is coasting. This is little old lady speed.” “NASCAR drivers would have heart attacks. Slow down before we get a ticket.” “Chicken.

Really? Is he running for Worst Boyfriend Ever?" "In the subcategory of Completely Awesome.

Are you armed?" Oliver asked her. She glanced down at her backpack and instantly, instinctively held back. "No." "Lie to me again and I'll put you out on the street and do this myself." Claire swallowed. "Uh, yeah." "With what?" "Silver-coated stakes, wooden stakes, a crossbow, about ten bolts . . . oh, and a squirt gun with some silver-nitrate solution." He smiled grimly at the dark windshield. "What, no grenade launchers?" "Would they work?" "I choose not to comment.

I’m not leaving,” Sam said, his eyes fixed on the boy he was holding. “Not until Disney Princess here apologizes, or his head comes off, one of the two.

She didn't know what Liam made his coffee with, but it had to be magical sparkles and crack beans, because it was the most delicious stuff she'd ever tasted.