Kelly

“Mornings at 300 Fox Way were fearful, jumbled things. Elbows in sides and lines for the bathroom and people snapping over tea bags placed into cups that already had tea bags in them. There was school for Blue and work for some of the more productive (or less intuitive) aunts. Toast got burned, cereal went soggy, the refrigerator door hung open and expectant for minutes at a time. Keys jingled as car pools were hastily decided.”
― Maggie Stiefvater, The Raven Boys

“She had thought it was such a simple thing to avoid kissing someone when she'd been with Adam. Her body had never known what to do. Now it knew. Her mouth didn't care that it was cursed.

She turned to Gansey.

"Blue," he warned, but his voice was chaotic. This close, his throat was scented with mint and wool sweater and vinyl car seat, and Gansey, just Gansey.

She said, "I just want to pretend. I want to pretend that I could."

He breathed out.

What was a kiss without a kiss?

It was a tablecloth tugged from beneath a party service. Everything jumbled against everything else in just a few chaotic moments. Fingers in hair, hands cupping necks, mouths dragged on cheeks and chins in dangerous proximity.

They stopped, noses mashed against each other in the strange way that closeness required. She could feel his breath in her mouth.

"Maybe it wouldn't hurt if I kiss you," he whispered. "Maybe it's only if you kiss me.”
― Maggie Stiefvater, Blue Lily, Lily Blue

“She said, "We can pretend. Just once. And then we'll never say anything about it again."

What a strange, shifting person he was. The Gansey who turned to her now was a world away from the lofty boy she'd first met. Without any hesitation, she stretched her arms around his neck. Who was this Blue? She felt bigger than her body. High as the stars. He leaned toward her--her heart spun again--and pressed his cheek against hers. His lips didn't touch her skin, but she felt his breath, hot and uneven, on her face. His fingers splayed on either side of her spine. Her lips were so close to his jaw that she felt his hint of stubble at the end of them. It was mint and memories and the past and the future and she felt as if she'd done this before and already she longed to do it again.

Oh, help, she thought. Help, help, help.

He pulled away. He said, "And now we never speak of it again.”
― Maggie Stiefvater, The Dream Thieves

“A moi, L'historie d'une de mes folies.”
― Donna Tartt, The Secret History