Wildfire (Maple Hills, #2)

by Hannah Grace

Henry had the courtesy to let me know that after six months of living next to Nate and Stassie, he can confirm with absolute certainty that the room is not soundproof.

“Listen, this isn’t working. You’re too fucking hot and the presidents aren’t helping, I’ve moved on to Stanley Cup winners, but with you just here”—he gestures to my thighs spread across him—“looking like that,” he says, gesturing up my body, “it’s going to take forever.”

unfortunately, you can be attracted to men and not actually like them as a species.

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.

“There’s no way that’s going to fit. I mean I love a challenge, but I can only be challenged so much, y’know?”

“You’re taking it so well, sweetheart.” I work a little harder, clearly motivated by words and moans. “That’s it, good girl.”

“Aurora,” Russ says softly, shuffling so his body is the one closest to the last space on the platform. “Look at me. You can do it, you just need to jump toward my arms and I’ll catch you, okay?”

When I look over my shoulder, he’s still standing next to the steps. “What’re you doing?” “I’m watching you go in so you don’t have to watch me leave.”

“Well, green is my favorite color.” “What type of green? Ogre green?” “Whatever shade your eyes are.”

“Oh, my sweet summer child.” He laughs. “You’re a straight white man. That’s your red flag.”

if I’m the first person to say it, then people can’t use it to hurt me. If I’m the first to say how much emotional baggage I have, then people can’t use it to push me away, because I’m the one who knew it was there.

“You take it so well, sweetheart. You’re such a good girl.”