Any Way the Wind Blows (Simon Snow, #3)

by Rainbow Rowell

This book is for you. Never let them tell you you’re not magic.

I thought we had the sort of love that you can’t set down or walk away from. An undying fire. The love you hear about in the old stories.

I’m still in the slow-motion part of it—that scene in a film where someone takes a bullet, then it takes ten seconds for their face to fall and another eternity before they clutch their chest. I’m in that scene, and my hand hasn’t even reached my heart yet. I’m still opening my mouth to scream.

Once I figure out the magic, I’m going to loop the same two lines again and again: “You’re in my blood, you’re my holy wine. You taste so bitter and so sweet.”

Fine, you fucker. Have me. Just have me. Do your worst, you stubborn twat. Be the death of me. You’ll be the death of me.

My hand is gentle on his scalp, gentle on his throat. I couldn’t break him if I tried. I won’t try. “Baz.” I kiss him. “You can have whatever you want.” “I want to always be here.”

I’m an “I love you” gun with the safety off, a finger constantly on the trigger.

Simon swallows; it’s my favourite show.