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There’s too much pressure with being the center of attention, too many opportunities to fuck everything up. I’m much happier being an observer, watching from the outside.
For all the romance books I’ve read and all the happy endings I’ve enjoyed, I can’t imagine my own. I’d like to hope I’ll have one, but hope can be dangerous.
“Come on, Edward Cullen.
She’s so fucking beautiful it hurts.
“What’re you doing?” “I’m watching you go in so you don’t have to watch me leave.”
“I’m so bad. I’m literally a goalie’s dream.” “You are.”
“Just ask me, sweetheart. I promise I’m not going anywhere.”
“Well, green is my favorite color.” “What type of green? Ogre green?”
“Whatever shade your eyes are.”
“I’d wait forever for you, Aurora.”
“Not butterflies, the butterfly effect. If I change one thing in my past, it’d cause a ripple effect, and I wouldn’t chance not meeting you.”
“You are the brightest thing in my life, Aurora,” he says. “And you’re a living reminder of the good things that can happen when I allow myself to be happy.”
It’s no secret that I love books. I love stories about people I don’t know, and places I haven’t been to. I’ve lived a thousand lives between a thousand pages, but no story, no life, no page has ever made me as happy as you do, Russ Callaghan.”
