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I’m not going anywhere near a motel with you.

Becca Fitzpatrick

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Becca Fitzpatrick
Age: 45
Born: 1979
Born: February 3
Author
Novelist
Writer
Centerville
Utah
Near
Anywhere
Going
Motel
Motels

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I gave up something I wanted for something I need. And I need you, Angel. More than I think you'll ever know.
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Because I thought I was in love. And when you think you're in love, you are willing to stick it out and make it work until it is love.
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He brushed my curls back off my face. “I never pictured my life so complete. I never thought I’d have everything I want. You’re everything to me, Angel.
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What is it with you and girls’ bathrooms?
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Keep in mind that people change, but the past doesn't.
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I need to get back to work,” Patch said. He gave me a once-over that lingered a bit below the hips. “Killer skirt. Deadly legs.
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Fine! I'll throw on some clothes. Turn around. I'm in my pj's I'm a guy. That's like asking a kid not to glance at the candy counter.
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I'm not good, he said, piercing me with eyes that absorbed all light but reflected none, but I was worse.
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You’re impinging on my private space,” I said, inching backward. Patch gave a barely-there smile. Impinging? This isn’t the SAT, Nora.
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Stay with me tonight. Let me hold you even if that's all it is. Let me keep you safe.
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Being with you never felt wrong. It's the one thing I did right. You're the one thing I did right.
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You smell good. It's called a shower. Soap, shampoo, water- Naked. I know the drill.
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I wasn´t expecting to come home to you, but now that you´re here, I have no intention of letting you leave. Patch :D (p. 295)
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Sure thing, Gumdrop. -Scott
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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 find the wrong boy, you ask for trouble. You find the right boy, you find love.
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Before I could stop myself, I punched his arm. “Careful,” he said in a low voice. “They might think we’re flirting.
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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.” He leaned across the table, raised his hand to my face, and brushed his thumb along one corner of my mouth. I pulled away, too late.
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I don't go out with strangers, I said. Good thing I do. I'll pick you up at five.
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I know you followed me. Don't look so surprised. It's called a rearview mirror.
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