Anhchi

“The day my internet was hooked up was better than having a hot guy check out my butt and ask for my phone number.”
― Jennifer L. Armentrout, Obsidian

“Thanks,” I muttered and added under my breath, “Douchebag.”

He laughed, deep and throaty. “Now that’s not very ladylike, Kittycat.”

I whipped around. “Don’t ever call me that,” I snapped.

“It’s better than calling someone a douchebag, isn’t it?” He pushed out the door. “This has been a stimulating visit. I’ll cherish it for a long time to come.”

Okay. That was it. “You know, you’re right. How wrong of me to call you a douchebag. Because a douchebag is too nice of a word for you,” I said, smiling sweetly. “You’re a dickhead.”

“A dickhead?” he repeated. “How charming.”

I flipped him off.”
― Jennifer L. Armentrout, Obsidian

“Is — is any of this real?" she asked. "Are you real?"

He lifted a hand to her cheek, his fingers brushing her jaw.

"Even if this is a dream," he whispered, "I'm not."

Isobel's eyes widened, recognizing those words as her own, the same ones she had once uttered to him. She reached for him, her arms twining around his neck, drawing him closer so his scent poured over her, that combination of incense, citrus, and dried leaves overriding the funeral funeral smell of the crowding flowers.

"Don't leave," she breathed.

"I'm here," he whispered. "Right here. Waiting.”
― Kelly Creagh, Enshadowed

“You look like you got more of a bath than the car. I never
thought washing a car would be so hard, but after watching you for the last fifteen minutes, I’m convinced it should be an Olympic sport.”
― Jennifer L. Armentrout, Obsidian