Danique van Dijk’s Reviews > Crash & Burn > Status Update

He grins wide. “But, I was kinda hoping I could do a little remedying right now?”
Oh, God. But… but…
Butt.

What happend with her mind in this book I can't

(..) how something like this would work without our dicks touching. Because I like him and all, but… not that much.”
A laugh bursts out of me. “Y-you seriously talked about that while looking at cars?”
He chuckles. “Yeah. Was over pretty fast. I said, ‘Touch my dick with any part of your body and I’m out.’ He said, ‘Deal.’ I am kinda afraid he might touch my dick on purpose, though, just to keep you to himself.”

HA

“I never promised such a thing. I mentioned double pen—I mean I promised to make tonight worth your while.” Oh god… I have never been nervous around them. Always trusting. Always hungry.
Trenton’s momentary disappointment fades and an amused grin pulls at his features. “Something happened to the first part of that sentence. Can you repeat? Not sure I caught it all.”

HAHAHA

"I stayed there all night, lying on that tire mark, playing chicken in the road, waiting for a car to come and send me to be with them. It never happened. The sun rose. I was still alive."
(...)
“The reason I didn’t die that night was because Trenton and Hayes had taken up post to the east and west of me and detoured traffic. All night.”

Their friendship >>> holy shit :')

loved this — these morning coffees. His messy hair. Anal.
I mean… conversation.
Oops. Slip of the tongue.

I'm crying how did that happen

The lowered voice isn’t menacing, though; it’s riddled with pain. “You’re my fucking antivenin, Remi.” Crow closes the distance between us again and pushes his fingers through the hair against the base of my neck. “Heal me.”

AAAAAAHW I LOVE HIM

My lips quirk up sideways, and I shrug. “I like them. Um… your tattoos, I mean. Not… women.”
Wow. Holy shit.
“All good.” She giggles. “That’s what they all say at first anyway.” (2)

HAHAHA Okay I love Lace already

She is still wearing the lace sundress she put on after the fire, but this time I notice tattoos — faux, lacy stocking patterns that peek out under her short dress and line down the sides of her thighs and legs.
She clears her throat, and my traveling gaze snaps upward. “Not every day I have to remind a woman where my face is.” (1)