Gretchen

“Oh, I get it. You’re doing the girlfriend—what’s her name? Megan?” “Merit,” answered the girl at the table. “And it’s a pretty good costume.” I opened my mouth to object, to proclaim that I wasn’t doing Ethan’s girlfriend, I was Ethan’s girlfriend, and I was doing Ethan.”
― Chloe Neill, Blood Games

“Dear God,” I said, dodging a pair of zombie cheerleaders to cross the busy pathway to the “Hunkiest” table, staring down at the assortment of pink, white, and pale blue panties, Ethan’s green eyes staring out from the front triangle.”
― Chloe Neill, Blood Games

“Oh, François,” I breathily said. “You’ll have to hurry. My boyfriend will be back soon.” Ethan grunted and slipped his arms around mine, pulling him tight against my body. “My desire is impatient,” he said in a French accent that was surprisingly believable. “It will not wait, and damn your boyfriend.” I turned to face him, wrapped my arms around his neck, and caught his bottom lip gently between my teeth. “Then by all means, François, let’s get to it.”
― Chloe Neill, Blood Games

“I accept that he has a past. I wasn’t a saint before we met.” She slid me a glance. “I wasn’t.” “You were a nerdy English lit student; you were as close as it gets without beatification.”
― Chloe Neill, Blood Games