Fireworks (True North, #6)

by Sarina Bowen

Stunned, I’d watched her approach, wondering if she was even real. She hadn’t seen me, but even before I opened my mouth to warn her not to trip over me, my heart spoke up. Mine, it had said. And I’d been pretty much gone for her from that day forward.

The heart is a fool, and love at first sight is a vicious bitch. She doesn't care who she burns or how much destruction is left in her wake. She will eat you up and spit you out.

But—Jesus Christ—the love of my life has the worst possible timing.

What’s the statute of limitations on heartache? I don’t think mine is over.

“So that’s why I played so much ukulele.” He strums again. “To hide my boner. It was a year of untucked shirts and strategically placed objects.”

“Skye,” he whispers, and it sounds like a prayer. A hot, open-mouthed kiss lands on my cheekbone. “Give me your mouth, sweetheart.”

If you love someone, set him free. If he returns with a cup of coffee, he’s a keeper.

“Okay, when I think dirty thoughts about you, I really mean that they’re raw. Unfiltered. And when I use that word in bed I mean…unguarded. Whatever crazy thing I want is just for the two of us. It’s not bad, it’s just not fit for anyone else’s eyes. Just yours.”

“Let’s all caffeinate so we’re ready for the hearing later. And the press conference. Would it be weird to throw an indictment party? Is that a thing?” “Let’s make it a thing,” Audrey says. “Which hors d'oeuvres pair best with criminal prosecution?”