Hexed (Never After, #6)

by Emily McIntire

In my experience, it’s better when men can’t talk anyway.

If we were back home, I’d have some yarrow I could mix with water to spread on the wound like a paste,

That’s the thing about grief, I guess. It steals the air from your lungs just as you’ve finally figured out how to breathe.

There’s a difference between a man who does bad things and a bad man.

Energy attracts energy, so when two people have a similar vibration, it’s easy to feel.

There’s nothing a good red lip and a protection stone can’t cure.

“Loving you out loud. I like that.”

A mob wife isn’t supposed to speak out of turn. They keep their mouths closed and their eyes shut to anything other than what we decide to tell them.

Weak men always let their dicks do the thinking, and strong women know how to take advantage of that.

because watching her eat is like hearing your favorite symphony for the first time: a transcendent experience you never knew you were missing but somehow know you can’t live without.

If my daddy is a drug, then my momma is the addict, and she’ll bleed for him until her veins run dry, even if it leaves me all alone.

“Peacocking” is what we call it back home. Posturing because you need to show off something you don’t really have.

I may be pissed off at him, but I’m not dead.

I’ve never been in a relationship before, and to be honest, I’m not entirely sure that’s what we are now, but I like how he cares for me in a way nobody else ever has.

He frowns. “I like you in dresses. I need easy access.”

“I love that you don’t wear underwear.” He’s right, I rarely do. It’s constricting, and I hate the way it feels. My girl needs to breathe.

I’ve never felt more attractive to someone than I do at this moment.

it was just an omission, but an omission is sometimes worse than a lie.

life’s too short to not hold the ones you love close.

There’s nothing like death to make you want to live.

Mafia men and their women don’t do therapy.

What about the sopranos