“He's my..." It takes me the longest moment in history to answer this question. "He's my soul mate.”

“Tyson McCabe, my bad boy, my tortured soul, my little piece of dark with bits of light that glimmer like stars.”

“I can tell you that she changed my life, and I think, somehow, I changed hers. We're good for each other, Never and me. Just two tortured souls tangled together for life. Just two, tortured fucking souls in love.”

“I want to keep kissing forever, tasting sultry Southern boy and good manners and a filthy fucking mouth, but I think he has other plans. “If you don't want this,” he whispers as he grazes my ear with his white, white teeth. “Then you better tell me now because once I get started, I ain't gonna be able to stop.”

“If I ever believe in something again, and it turns out to be false, then not only will my body crumble beneath me, but so will my soul. I'll disintegrate, disappear into the wind and blow away. I'll be nothing. I'll blank out and the energy of who I was will just go away, melt into the ground and come back as something unimportant, like a dandelion or a caterpillar. I can't find it in my heart to care.”

“When the panties drop, dear God, girl, make sure you unhook at least one ankle or when he gets to that epic moment where he wants to kick your legs apart and ram you, you're not gonna be ready!”

“My therapist says it's because I have 'daddy' issues. Like that's supposed to mean something to me. How can I have daddy issues when I barely knew the prick?”