Love The Hair. Love When

You’re Impinging On My Private Space,” I Said, Inching Backward. Patch Gave A Barely-there Smile. "impinging? This Isn’t The Sat, Nora.

You’re Crowding Me. I Need— Room.”... What I Needed Were Boundaries. I Needed Willpower. I Needed To Be Caged Up, Since Yet Again I Was Proving I Couldn’t Be Trusted In Patch’s Presence. I Should Have Been Bolting For The Door, And Yet … I Wasn’t.

I Tended To Be More A Romantic Than A Realist, And Chose Blind Faith Over Cold Logic.

Who Wants To Kill You?” The Guy Asked. He Was Still Looking Over His Shoulder, But His Expression Was Puzzled. “there’s Nobody There,” The Girlfriend Told Me. “you’re Making Them Think They Can’t See You, Aren’t You?” I Said To Patch, Awed By His Power Even As I Despised His Use Of It.

His Were The Kind Of Eyes That Held Secrets. The Kind That Lied Without Flinching. The Kind That Once You Looked Into Them, It Was Hard To Break Away.