Stop Crying. You're Giving Archangels

Patch Was Dressed In The Usual: Black Shirt, Black Jeans And A Thin Silver Necklace That Flashed Against His Dark Complexion. His Sleeves Were Pushed Up His Forearms, And I Could See His Muscles Working As He Punched Buttons. He Was Tall And Lean And Hard, And I Wouldn't Have Been Surprised If Under His Clothes He Bore Several Scars, Souvenirs From Street Fights And Other Reckless Behavior. Not That I Wanted A Look Under His Clothes.

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.

He Cracked A Slight Smile, But It Didn’t Look Amused. “i’m Not Letting You Out Of My Sight. You’re Looking A Little Deranged, Angel. We’ll Go Together.

You’re A Guardian Angel Now.”.... I’m Your Guardian Angel,” He Said. “i Get My Very Own Guardian Angel? What, Exactly, Is Your Job Description?” “guard Your Body.” His Smile Tipped Higher. “i Take My Job Seriously, Which Means I’m Going To Need To Get Acquainted With The Subject Matter On A Personal Level.

All This Time I've Hated Myself For It. I Thought I'd Given It Up For Nothing. But If I Hadn't Fallen, I Wouldn't Have Met You.