Alison Kosogof

“Asscrown," I muttered under my breath as I headed to my next class. I wasn't proud of swearing at a complete stranger, no. but he started it.

Noah matched my pace. "Don't you mean 'assclown'?" He looked amused.

"No," I said, louder this time. "I mean asscrown. The crown on top of the asshat that covers the asshole of the assclown. The very zenith in the hierarchy of asses," I said, as though I was reading from a dictionary of modern profanity.

"I guess you nailed me then.”
― Michelle Hodkin, The Unbecoming of Mara Dyer

“What are my options?"
"You could read obscure poetry while I play the triangle, I suppose. Or we can smother ourselves in peanut butter and howl at the moon. Use your imagination."
"Fine,"I said. "You take my hand and back up toward the bed."
"Excellent choice. What then?"
"You sit down, and pull me down with you."
"Where are you?" he asked.
"You pull me onto your lap."
"Where are your legs?"
"Around your waist."
"Well," Noah said, his voice slightly rough. "This is getting interesting. So I'm on the edge of your bed. I'm holding you on my lap as you straddle me. My arms are around you, bracing you there so you don't fall. What am I wearing?"...
"What do you usually wear to bed?" I asked.
Noah said nothing. I opened my eyes to an arched brow and a devious grin.
Oh my God.
"Close. Your. Eyes," he said. I did. "Now, where were we?"
"I was straddling you," I said.
"Right. And I'm wearing..."
"Drawstring pants."
"Those are quite thin, you know."
I'm aware.
...
"Right," he said. "So what are you wearing?"
"I don't know. A space suit. Who cares?"
"I think this should be as vivid as possible," he said. "For you," he clarified, and I chuckled. "Eyes closed," he reminded me. "I'm going to have to institute a punishment for each time I have to tell you."
"What did you have in mind?"
"Don't tempt me. Now, what are you wearing?"
"A hoodie and drawstring pants too, I guess."
"Anything underneath?"
"I don't typically walk around without underwear."
"Typically?"
"Only on special occasions."
"Christ. I meant under your hoodie."
"A tank top, I guess."
"What color?"
"White tank. Black hoodie. Gray pants. I'm ready to move on now."
I felt him nearer, his words close to my ear. "To the part where I lean back and pull you down with me?"
Yes.
"Over me," he said.
Fuck.
"The part where I tell you that I want to feel the softness of the curls at the nape of your neck? To know what your hipbone would feel like against my mouth?" he murmured against my skin. "To memorize the slope of your navel and the arch of your neck and the swell of your-”
― Michelle Hodkin, The Evolution of Mara Dyer

“Thinking something does not make it true. Wanting something does not make it real.”
― Michelle Hodkin, The Unbecoming of Mara Dyer

“I hate you," I muttered.
Noah smiled wider. "I know.”
― Michelle Hodkin, The Unbecoming of Mara Dyer