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Citizen's arrest, he said. Well, that, and Patch told me to.

Becca Fitzpatrick

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Becca Fitzpatrick
Age: 45
Born: 1979
Born: February 3
Author
Novelist
Writer
Centerville
Utah
Citizen
Citizens
Told
Wells
Well
Arrest
Patch
Patches

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It isn't about love, Vee said. It's about fun.
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Just because I've gone and snagged myself a hot boyfriend doesn't mean I'm going to leave my bestfriend high and dry.
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It was a smile that spelled trouble. With a promise.
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Cheshvan starts tonight, Rixon said, What are you doing arsing around in a graveyard? Thinking. Thinking? A process by which I use my brain to make a rational decision.
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It’s so real. Most dreams are. It isn't until you wake up that you see all the plot holes.
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Science is an investigation, Coach said, sanding his hands together. Science requires us to transform into spies. Put that way, science almost sounded fun. But I'd been in Coach's class long enough not to get my hopes up.
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I need to brush my teeth. And I need a shower. He grinned, hopping off the bike. Now that is an invitation.
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Violence doesn't equal strength.
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I'm a private contractor now. I choose my clients, not the other way around.
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Inwardly, I gouged my eyes out.
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Nice costume, he said. Ditto. I can tell you put a lot of thought into yours. Amusement curled his mouth. If you don't like it, I can take it off.
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If I lose you, I lose everything
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I don't have 'five' you can borrow. My piggy bank is officially anorexic.
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Your mine, angel. And I won't let anything change that.
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Why is Anthony Amowitz using his pimp smile on you?” “You’re only calling him a pimp because he’s here. At Marcie’s.” “Yeah, so?” “He’s being nice.” I elbowed her. “Smile back.” “Being nice? He’s being horny.
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You're mine, Angel, he murmured, brushing the words across my jawbone as I arched my neck higher, inviting him to kiss everywhere. You have me forever.
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He's got the whole bad-boy-in-need-of-redemption thing going on, but the catch is, most bad boys don't want redemption. They like being bad. They like the power they get from striking fear and panic into the hearts of mothers everywhere
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Biggest dream?” I was proud of this one because I knew it would stump him. It required forethought. “Kiss you.” “That’s not funny,” I said, holding his eyes, grateful I didn’t stutter. “No, but it made you blush.
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Hang on, did you just call me Angel? I asked. If I did? I don't like it. He grinned. It stays, Angel.
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He cracked a slight smile, but it didn’t look amused. “I’m not letting you out of my sight. You’re looking a little deranged, Angel. We’ll go together.
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