Forrest Lacson

“Patch was dressed in the usual: black shirt, black jeans and a thin silver necklace that flashed against his dark complexion. His sleeves were pushed up his forearms, and I could see his muscles working as he punched buttons. He was tall and lean and hard, and I wouldn't have been surprised if under his clothes he bore several scars, souvenirs from street fights and other reckless behavior.

Not that I wanted a look under his clothes.”
― Becca Fitzpatrick, Hush, Hush

“You should go," I breathed. "You should definitely go."

"Go here?" His mouth was on my shoulder. "Or here?" It moved up my neck.”
― Becca Fitzpatrick, Hush, Hush

“Coach: "All right, Patch. let's say you're at a party. the room is full of girls of all shapes and sizes. You see blondes, brunettes, redheads, a few girl with black hair. Some are talkive, while other appear shy. You've one girl who fits your profile - attractive, intelligent and vulnerable. Dow do you let her know you're interested?"

Patch: "Single her out. Talk to her."

Coach: "Good. Now for the big question - how do you know if she's game or if she wants you to move on?"

Patch: "I study her. I figure out what she's thinking and feeling. She's not gonig to come right out and tell me, which is why i have to pay attention. Does she turn her body toward mine? Does she hold me eyes, then look away? Does she bite her lip and play with her hair, the way Nora is doing right now?”
― Becca Fitzpatrick, Hush, Hush

“Put the damn measuring tape away," Vee ordered. "I already know my size. I don't need reminding.”
― Becca Fitzpatrick, Hush, Hush