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They say Satan has a sense of humor. That may explain why my life is such a joke. - Gwen Goode, lamenting recent events
Chase my dreams? Honey, I don’t even chase my tequila shots. - Gwen Goode, ordering another round
Some people fight their inner demons. Mine mostly just want to cuddle.
I didn’t always hate him. In fact, there was a time when the things I felt for him were something more akin to the sensation you get when you haven’t eaten all day and you see the waiter coming toward your table with your entree held aloft. Pure, unadulterated, mouthwatering hunger.
Can’t taste the world through a sheet of glass, honey. Get on out in it. Try every flavor it has to offer.
Is that why you bolt like a spooked horse every time I get close to you?” “Maybe you just have that effect on women.” His lips twitched. “Not historically, no.”
I’m more of a dog person. - Gwen Goode, forced to hold a newborn
Great. Just freaking great. I’d been kidnapped by the cast of Hocus Pocus.
Gaia above, she really is a simpleton.”
“Intuitive as a turnip,” the second witch added.
His eyes finally lifted to lock on mine, the raw emotion in their depths burning bright even in the darkness. “Who did this?” His voice was a low rasp of rage. “Who hurt you?”
A special place in Hell? For me? That’s actually so thoughtful. - Gwen Goode, flattered by an enemy
“You just kissed me,” I said dumbly, when I was once again able to speak. “Seemed like the quickest way to shut you up.”
“I’m sorry.” I jolted at the unexpected apology. “Why? It’s not your fault.” “Just because it’s not my fault doesn’t mean I don’t wish I could fix it for you.”
“I run a classroom of unruly second graders five days a week in an underfunded public school. I’m pretty sure I can handle entitled hipsters and wide-eyed tourists for a single day.”
Her eyes bugged out at me, flickering from me to Graham and back again in a pointed way that, in best-friend-code, clearly meant: What the fuck is going on between the two of you? I pinned her with my best stare, the one that said: Nothing is going on, mind your own business! She volleyed back with a slow, intentional blink. We’re going to talk about this later. I rolled my eyes back in the sockets. There’s nothing to talk about. “Right,” she said aloud. “Sure. Whatever you say.”
“You’re fooling yourself if you think we’re finished talking about this,” he gritted out between clenched teeth. “Go on. Run home. Convince yourself this was a — what did you call it? Lapse in judgment. But Gwen?” He pressed into me and my knees nearly buckled when I felt the rigid length of him against my ass. “I’ll be here when you’re ready to lapse again.”
“You’re right, Flo. He’s not my Superman, here to save the day. He’s my freaking kryptonite. He’s an emotional crutch I leaned on for way too long. He’s not a sign of shifting fortune. Not good luck. If anything, he’s my freaking bad luck charm.”
“And you are?” “Florence Lambert, Gwen’s best friend. The Thelma to her Louise. The Rose to her Blanche. The Sookie to her Lorelai. The Waldorf to her Van der Woodsen.”
Of course, when you actually turn eighteen, you realize pretty quickly that you’re just as much of an idiot kid as you were at eight — albeit with slightly better sense of style and slightly worse taste in men.
“Us,” he concurred. “You and me.” “There is no you and me,” I told the door, too chickenshit to turn around and face him. “Only because every time I try to change that, you run scared.” “Or maybe because I loathe you with every ounce of my being!” “Tell that to your nipples, babe.”
“Jesus Christ, Gwen. You’ll twist anything to make it fit the evil version of me in your head, won’t you? The truth could bite you in the ass and you’d deny it had teeth.”
“For the past two years, it’s been pure fucking torture being near you all the time, watching you date dickhead after dickhead — none of them making you happy, none of them even seeing you, the real you, or even bothering all that hard to try. Two fucking years of standing in the shadows. Every boat day, every backyard barbecue. Watching while they touched you like you belonged to them. Trying not to turn fucking feral because they got to taste something that always should’ve been mine.”
“I’m a patient man. I’ve been
patient for years, waiting for you to drop your guard. I’ll keep being patient as long as it takes you to feel safe enough to do that. But so help me God, if you don’t stop trying to actively push me away just because you’re scared… then I guess I wasted my energy, because you aren’t the girl I’ve been waiting for all this time.”
Sure, I have a magic wand. It’s in my nightstand. - Gwen Goode, enjoying six unique vibration patterns
Whenever life gets too big to hold in your hands, plant your feet on old ground,
“We’re in a fight.” “Don’t give a shit,” he clipped back. “You don’t give a shit?” “Nope. Not one shit.” His eyes narrowed dangerously. “You want to be pissed at me, be pissed. Hell, I’m pretty fucking pissed at you, too. But I’m here. Told you before, I’m not letting you run from this. That goes both ways. Means I don’t run either, even when you’re a bitch.”
“Gwen,” he clipped. “What?” “Shut up.” I shut up. Mostly because, at that moment, he kissed me, which gave me no other choice in the matter.
Your aura is so stormy, they’re going to put out a Nor’Easter watch for the entire Eastern Seaboard.”
“Wish I’d known two years ago I could kiss the bitchiness out of you.” “Excuse me?” “Would’ve spared me a lot of nights with blue balls, babe.” My eyes narrowed. “You’re going to be experiencing them again tonight if you keep being an ass.”
“You…” I swallowed, struggling to speak. “You’re building me a library?” “Assuming you still want one, yeah.” I promptly burst into tears.
“Glad you’re on board, babe.” “On board?” I screeched. “I’m not on board. I’m so far off board I’m like Jack in the movie Titanic.”
“I don’t care if you forget your own name. So long as you don’t forget who you belong to.”
Not today, Satan. I’m free tomorrow, though. - Gwen Goode, dealing with the devil
“Luck’s got nothing to do with it, Hightower. Takes work. Takes patience of a goddamned saint. But god knows, it’s worth it.” He paused. “You’ll see what I mean when you meet her.” “Who?” Cade asked lowly. “Your world,” Graham answered.
