Cindy Menjivar

“Hey,” I reached out and tapped the hand that rested next to my left leg. “you are--”
The hand that I tapped reached up and clasped mine. I froze as he threaded his finders through mine. “I’m what?”
Beautiful. Kind. Patient. Perfect. I said none of those things. Instead, I stared at his fingers, wondering if he knew he was holding my hand. “You’re always so….”
His thumb moved over the top of my hand. The balm made his fingers cool and smooth. “What?”
I looked up, and I was immediately snared. His stare, his soft touch along my hand was doing very strange things. I felt hot and dizzy, like I’d been out in the sun all day. All I could think about was how his hand felt on mine. Then, what his hand would feel like on other parts. I shouldn’t be thinking that at all.
Aiden was a pure.”
― Jennifer L. Armentrout, Half-Blood

“Okay. I’m ready to move onto something else, like practicing with knives or defense against the dark arts. Cool things.”
“Did you just quote Harry Potter?”
― Jennifer L. Armentrout, Half-Blood

“So? What are you going to do about it? Throw your mashed potatoes at me? I'm consumed by terror.”
― Jennifer L. Armentrout, Half-Blood

“Did you think he was just some lazy pure-blood who needed protection?” His voice dripped sarcasm.
“Well he looks like one! How was I supposed to know he was secretly Rambo in Dockers?”
― Jennifer L. Armentrout, Half-Blood