“Jace. This can't happen." I closed my eyes, thinking it would be easier to say without him looking back at me. But it wasn't. "This isn't about us. I can't leave Marc.”

“His fingers leave streaks of cold on my skin, invisible to the eye, and I think about wrapping his shirt around my fist and pulling him in to kiss me; I think about pressing myself against him, but I can't, because all our secrets would keep a space between us.”

“I shut my eyes tightly, willing myself to go back to sleep. I want to go back to my dream, back to Caleb. I can't fucking breathe ! I can't breathe without him. I don't want to.”

“And just as I start to move past him, my hip accidentally rubs against his, and his face is so close, and his eyes so deep, that I can't help but lift my fingers to his smooth, sculptured cheek. Then without even thinking, I close my eyes, lean in, and kiss him.”

“If I love you more than you love me, I'm as good as dead. Yet I can't make myself take it back. I can't just walk away from you, because every time you pass by me without smiling, without touching my hand, or at least making eye contact, it feels like I'm dying inside. And I'm pretty sure that hurts worse than whatever Marc would do to me. Whatever your dad would do. Hell, Faythe, I'm pretty sure that never touching you again would hurt worse than the nastiest death Calvin could think up for me.”

“These young folks say they can't leave home without their American Express, but nowadays I can't leave home without my pistol. I ain't used it in a while but I've been itching to.”