Becca Fitzpatrick (born February 3, 1979) is an American author, best known for having written the New York Times bestseller Hush, Hush.
My arms hurt from how tightly Patch held me. “Now that’s what I call a scream,” he said, grinning at me.
Do you think the Bible is accurate? I mean, do you think it's real?" " I think Pastor Calvin is hot. In a fortysomething way. That pretty much sums up my religious conviction
Deep, dark unearthly black. I hadn't told anyone yet, but the color kept streaking across my mind at the oddest moments. When it did, my skin shivered pleasantly, and it was as if I could feel the color tracing a finger tenderly along my jaw, tipping my chin up to face it directly. I knew it was absurd to think a color would come to life, but once or twice, I was sure I'd caught a flash of something more substantial behind the color. A pair of eyes. The way they studied me cut to the heart.
You smell good. " "It's called a shower. Soap, shampoo, water-" "Naked. I know the drill.
You want a blood relative to lead your army? Get Marcie. She likes ordering people around. She'll be a natural.
I’m not stealing it. We’re stranded. This is called borrowing. ” “This is called you’re crazy.
If I could make this go away, I would. If I could stand in your place, I wouldn't hesitate. But I'm left with one choice, and that's to stand by your side through the end. I won't waver, Angel, I can promise you that. -Patch to Nora
How warm I feel. How icredibly alive and vibrant and heedless every last inch of me feels next to you.
I'm not leaving until you tell me why you followed me. I know I'm a fascinating guy, but this is starting to feel like an unhealthy obsession.
Light had a way of keeping the monsters of my imagination at bay.
Patch smiled. “You come by your red hair naturally?” I stared at him. “I don’t have red hair. ” “I hate to break it to you, but it’s red. I could light it on fire and it wouldn’t turn any redder.
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
Hey now, none of that. You know I don't have one evil bone in my body. Only two hundred and six of them?
Go ahead. You're not going to walk in on anyone. I'm home alone. " "The whole night?" Immediately, I realized it might not have been the smartest thing to say. "Dorothea will be coming soon. " That was a lie. Dorothea was long gone. It was close to midnight. "Dorothea?" "Our housekeeper. She's old- but strong. Very strong. " I tried to squeeze past him. Unsuccessfully. "Sounds frightening," he said, retrieving the key from the lock. He held it out for me. "She can clean a toilet inside and out in under a minute. More like terrifying.
Pac-Man? Or is it Donkey Kong?” In truth, it looked a little more violent and military. A slow grin spread over his face. “Baseball. Think maybe you could stand behind me and give me a few pointers?
Scott: Friends don't let friends drive drunk. Nora: Are you trying to appeal to my conscience? Scott: How can you turn down a once-in-a-lifetime chance to drive the 'Stang? Nora: How about you sell me the 'Stang for thirty dollars? I can even pay cash. Scott: Drunk, but not that drunk, Grey.
It didn't escape me that he couldn't seem to stop finding reasons to touch me. Nor did I miss that I didn't want him to stop.
One more thing. I sold the mustang. Too conspicuous. Don't get too excited, but I bought you a little something with the extra cash. I heard you've had your eye on a Volkswagen. The owner is dropping it by tomorrow. I paid for a full tank of gas, so make sure she delivers.
I swear to you, Nora Grey, on this day, from now and forever, to give myself to you. I am yours. My love, my body, my soul—I place in your possession and protection. ” He held out the ring, a single offering, a binding promise. ~ Patch + Nora
Anthony raised his red plastic cup to me and shouted something, but it was too hard to hear over the music. “What?” I called back. “You look great!” A goofy smile was plastered on his face. “Oh boy,” Vee said. “Not just a pimp, but a smashed pimp. ” “So maybe he’s a little drunk. ” “Drunk and hoping to corner you alone in a bedroom upstairs. ” Ugh.