“He’d actually hit me! It didn’t matter that hitting me wasn’t really like hitting a regular girl and I’d be completely healed in a matter of hours. I was still a freaking girl, and he damned well knew it. I’d just have to hit him back. With a lead pipe. Or an eighteen-wheeler.”

“I punched him 14 times in the face, and he didn’t even try to hit me back. He wasn’t a pacifist, but he was already as dead as a slab of meat.”

“I hammered him with my fists. He just stood and took it. He didn't suffer graciously, he looked pissed off to no end. But he let me hit him. And he didn't hit me back.”

“Hell, I can't hit a girl. Here, Claire. You hit her.”

“Not everyone who comes to Luna's on gig nights is here to see me. Some people are actually more interested in the coffee. Or the scones. Or in hitting on Emily.""Oh, I didn't say I wasn’t' here to hit on Em," I say. "Just that hitting on Em and enjoying your music aren't mutually exclusive.”

“As I swung a third time, he grabbed my wrist. "That's enough hitting," he growled. "You don't exactly hit like a girl, you know.”