Hannah Verrinder

“Um, and this is….Ilya. Rozanov. You probably know that.”
“Hi,” Ilya said.
“And he’s been…visiting. He’s…we’re, um…”
What were they, exactly? It occurred to Shane that he and Ilya hadn’t even figured out what label they were comfortable with.
“Lovers,” Ilya offered.
Fuck, way to choose the grossest possible word, Ilya.
Well, there was no going back from that word. Shane could only wait for the aftermath.
“But…you hate him,” Mom said.
“No, I…don’t. I mean. Sometimes I do, kinda. But mostly I..love him. Actually.”
“You..what?”
― Rachel Reid, Heated Rivalry

“Let yourself live in something that is already rightfully yours—your own wild mind.”
― Natalie Goldberg, Wild Mind: Living the Writer's Life

“His mother looked at him sympathetically. “When the right one comes along, you’ll know,” she said.
And Shane chickened out. Because he couldn’t tell them that the right one had come along, and it was the pissed-off Russian man who was currently heading the penalty box on their television.”
― Rachel Reid, Heated Rivalry

“All these soft, warm nights going to waste when I ought to be lying in your arms under the moon - the dearest arms in all the world - darling arms that I love to feel around me - How much longer - before they’ll be there to stay? When I do get home again, you’ll certainly have a most awful time ever moving me one inch from you.”
― Zelda Fitzgerald, Dear Scott, Dearest Zelda: The Love Letters of F. Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald