“What do your parents do? Do they travel a lot?"My brow wrinkled. "No, they don't." I was tired of the interrogation. "Do yours?"He blinked. "What?""Do your parents travel a lot? Are they still married? How many in your family? How old are you? What classes do you have? Boxers or briefs? What's your GPA? Do you always go around knocking strange girls off their feet and then hammering them with a barrage of personal questions?" I finished with a cocky smile.Tristan hid a grin behind his fist. Mr. Exotic levelled me a steady stare, a sly smile gaining momentum. "Do you always end up straddling the guys that do?"Tristan choked. My smile froze. Crap."And as for boxers or briefs." One hand went to his belt buckle. "I'd be happy to..."Double crap. I jabbed a thumb over my shoulder towards my house "I've gotta go.”

“Folks look around, what do you see and what do you have in your hand or in your house? Don't you ever underestimate what is in your hand or in your house, it doesn't matter how little it is.”

“You are beyond frustrating," she grumbled. "Why can't you do what I ask you to do without issuing a million questions first?""I could say the same of you.""I don't--Argh." She raised a fist at him. "So maybe I do ask a lot of questions. So what. Anyone in my position would do the same. Besides, I'm a girl and that's my job. You're a boy. You're supposed to pound your chest with your fists and grunt, then do everything in your power to please me.""Hardly. The man you just described is more likely to knock you over the head with a club and drag you away by the hair." -Annabelle and Zacharel”

“Am I picking you up tonight?” he asked. “Or do you still think I'm an ax murderer who might break into your house and off you and your family?”“Pretty sure you'd go all parkour on us. Instead of using an ax.”“Parkour? You think I'd use your family as an obstacle course?”“What?” I asked.He smothered a laugh. “Parkour is non-contact.”I felt my face redden. How was I supposed to know all that guy crap?”

“What did you do?” I mumble. He is just a few feet away from me now, but not close enough to hear me. As he passes me he stretches out his hand. He wraps it around my palm and squeezes. Squeezes, then lets go. His eyes are bloodshot; he is pale. “What did you do?” This time the question tears from my throat like a growl. I throw myself toward him, struggling against Peter’s grip, though his hands chafe. “What did you do?” I scream. “You die, I die too” Tobias looks over his shoulder at me. “I asked you not to do this. You made your decision. These are the repercussions.”

“I don't know what I'm going to do with you, Trav! I've dumped someone for you-twice-I've picked up and went to Vegas with you-twice-I've literally gone through hell and back, married you and branded myself with your name. I'm running out of ideas to prove to you that I'm yours." A small smile graced his lips. "I love it when you say that." "That I'm yours?" I asked. I leaned up on the balls of my feet, pressing my lips against his. "I. Am. Yours. Mrs. Travis Maddox. Forever and always.”