C.M. Jones

“Seriously? she hisses. You're literally putting your dick in the leader of a foreign state, who is a man, at the biggest political event before the election, in a hotel full of reporters, in a city full of cameras, in a race close enough to fucking hinge on some bullshit like this, like a manifestation of my fucking stress dreams, and you're asking me not to tell the president about it?”
― Casey McQuiston, Red, White & Royal Blue

“What do you want?"
"I want you—"
"Then fucking have me.”
― Casey McQuiston, Red, White & Royal Blue

“What?” she says. “I want to be prepared for my first-ever royal wedding.” “You went to prom, didn’t you?” Alex says. “Just picture that, only in hell, and you have to be really nice about it.”
― Casey McQuiston, Red, White & Royal Blue

“Stay here. I can stay here. You go. Run.”
“Really.”
“Yes.”
“Okay. If that’s what you want. I mean, I could probably die or something, but you do you.”
He jerked his head up as he growled. “Die?”
I nodded solemnly. “Might trip over a tree root and break my neck. Or Ox could jump on me and crush my liver. Who the fuck knows?”
“Stupid Carter,” Gavin said.
“Stupid Carter,” I agreed.
“Know what you’re doing.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. So I’m just gonna go, I guess. Don’t know if I’ll ever come back, seeing as how I might be dead and all. If only there was someone out there who could have my back and—”
He put his hand over my mouth. “Stop talking. You make it worse.” His nostrils flared. “Fine. I’ll go. Stupid Carter always almost dies.”
― T.J. Klune, Brothersong