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Arrogance can be deadly.

Becca Fitzpatrick

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Becca Fitzpatrick
Age: 45
Born: 1979
Born: February 3
Author
Novelist
Writer
Centerville
Utah
Deadly
Arrogance

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Do you think the Bible is accurate? I mean, do you think it's real? I think Pastor Calvin is hot. In a fortysomething way. That pretty much sums up my religious conviction
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Door’s locked,” he said. “And we have unfinished business.
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Killer skirt, deadly legs.
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Vee said, I'm trying to read the title he's holding…hang on…How to Be a Stalker. He is not checking out a book with that title. But I wasn't so sure. It's either that of How to Radiate Sexy Without Trying.
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Inwardly, I gouged my eyes out.
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Are you keeping anything else from me?” “I’m keeping a lot of things from you.” “Like?” “Like the way I feel about being locked up in here with you. You have no idea what you do to me.
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Nora: This is crazy. Patch: I'm crazy. About you.
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I forced a smile. It was the one I'd been practicing all morning. It felt tight at the edges and brittle everywhere in between.
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What little light was left inside me flickered out.
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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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Anthony raised his red plastic cup to me and shouted something, but it was too hard to hear over the music. “What?” I called back. “You look great!” A goofy smile was plastered on his face. “Oh boy,” Vee said. “Not just a pimp, but a smashed pimp.” “So maybe he’s a little drunk.” “Drunk and hoping to corner you alone in a bedroom upstairs.” Ugh.
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My life sucks when I’m only half-aware of it. If I quit drinking and saw what it’s really like, I’d probably jump off a bridge.
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Patch smiled. “You come by your red hair naturally?” I stared at him. “I don’t have red hair.” “I hate to break it to you, but it’s red. I could light it on fire and it wouldn’t turn any redder.
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Your enemy's enemy is your friend
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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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Right now, holding you, I feel like we have a shot at beating all odds and making it together.
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I couldn't picture myself with a boyfriend, but if I had to, I envisioned a nice normal guy who turned in his math homework on time and maybe even played rec baseball.
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...Good, because I need your help. Help is my middle name. I was pretty sure she'd already told me bad was her middle name, but I kept my opinion to myself.
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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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I couldn't stand here, hanging on, when the very thing I held disappeared more with each passing day.
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