Becca Fitzpatrick

Keep in mind that people change, but the past doesn’t.”

"He's tall, dark, and annoying.

aback by a compelling and forceful sense of undue familiarity. “Soap, shampoo, hot water,” I added, almost as an afterthought. “Naked. I know the drill,” Jev said,

Patch made a low, questioning sound. “Not bad?” I bent my head toward his. “Practice makes perfect.”

Patch leaned on the banister, dressed in a tailored black suit and silver tie. I gave him a flirty smile. He held out his arm and escorted me to the door. He smelled warm and earthy, like sun-baked sand. Unable to control myself, I grabbed his jacket lapels and hauled him into a kiss. “I could get you to smile like that, and without sales tax.” I whirled around to find the real Patch standing in the fitting room behind me.

We don’t have to go back to my place, Angel. I can take you home, if that’s what you want. Or, if you decide you want to sleep at my place, on opposite sides of my bedroom with a Do Not Cross line drawn down the middle, I’ll do it. I won’t like it, but I’ll do it.”

“I’m either in this with you, or I’m out,” I told him, and I meant every word. I’d lost Patch once before, and not to be melodramatic, but death was preferable. Patch was in my life for a reason. I needed him. We were two halves of the same whole.

Dante smiled. 1796.

Wow. You’re old.

GIVE ME 20 AND I’LL BE THERE, Patch texted. WHICH ROOM SPECIFICALLY ARE YOU IN?

YOUR BEDROOM.

MAKE THAT TEN MINUTES

Patch kissed the palm of my hand. Then he laid it on his heart, holding it there. I want you close too, Angel, he murmured to my mind