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When the bus stops, get in my fucking truck. I breathed out a bitter laugh. Aw, someone’s lost his temper. Why? I asked. The next thing I know, the bus stopped, he yanked the earbuds out of my ears, and I sucked in a breath as he leaned into my face. “Because you’re mine,” he growled in a whisper.
“I think that’s why I’ve always liked this time of day best. People hide in the dark. They quench their thirsts in the dark. They build their secrets in the dark. We’re more ourselves here than anywhere else. I get to be me”—he swallowed, staring at me—“when nightfall is coming.”
“But you’re going to be fucking mine someday,” he growled. “Come hell or high water, Emory Scott. You’re my woman, and you’re going to come home to me every day and sit at my table and warm my fucking bed.” He kissed me. “And you’re going to give me a Will Grayson IV. Mark my words.”
“You’re Lilith,” he whispered against my skin. “You can’t be burned if you’re the flame.”
I’d loved Emory since the moment I laid eyes on her when I was fourteen.
“The role of the villain is only determined by who’s telling the story.”
Nine years ago, I wouldn’t have given them the pleasure. Now, it was about my own. Screw ’em.
Que train scene 👀
“Live for your love,” the judge said, “love your life, and raise hell.”
