Renae McKenzie

“He did not smile back, and somehow I feel like he’s been carrying my smile around in his breast pocket ever since. He’s one up.”
― Sally Thorne, The Hating Game

“Are you sad?”

“Not yet.” He closes his eyes.

“I’ll drive for a bit.” I hold out my hand.

He shakes his head. “You’re my guest. I’ll drive. You’re tired.”

“Oh, I’m your guest now?” I put as much menace as I can into my walk and he puts both hands behind his back. I smile at him and he smiles back. I’m surprised the pinprick stars above us don’t explode into silver powder. The sadness I caught in his eyes is burned away by a spark of amusement.

“My hostage. My blackmailed, unwilling captive. Stockholm Shortcake.”
― Sally Thorne, The Hating Game

“I’ve got so much inside me I have no idea about. I’m like the mayor of a city I’ve never seen.”

He smiles at my phrasing. “If you knew the kind of little miracles happening every moment you breathe in, you wouldn’t be able to handle it. A valve could close and not open; an artery could split, you could die. At any moment. It’s nothing but miracles inside your tiny city.” He presses a kiss to my temple.

“Holy shit.” I clutch at him.

“You wouldn’t believe the stats on people who go to bed one night and never wake up. Normal, healthy people who aren’t even old.”

“Why would you tell me this? Is this what you think about?”

There’s the longest pause. “I used to. Not so much anymore.”

“I think I preferred it when I thought I was full of white bones and red goo. Why am I now thinking about dying tonight?”

“Now you see why I can’t do small talk. ”
― Sally Thorne, The Hating Game

“Truth or Dare,” he says. He always knows the exact right thing to say.

“Dare.”

“Coward. Okay, I dare you to eat the entire jar of hot mustard I have in my fridge.”

“I was hoping for a sexy dare.”

“I’ll get you a spoon.”

“Truth.”
― Sally Thorne, The Hating Game