Alison

“Patch reached for my hand and pushed my dad's ring off the tip of his finger and into my palm, curling my fingers around it. He kissed my knuckles. "I was going to give this back earlier, but it wasn't finished."

I opened my palm and held the ring up. The same heart was engraved on the underside, but now there were two names carved on either side of it: NORA and JEV.

I looked up. "Jev? That's your real name?"

"Nobody's called me that in a long time.”
― Becca Fitzpatrick, Crescendo

“You're mine, Angel," he murmured, brushing the words across my jawbone as I arched my neck higher, inviting him to kiss everywhere. "You have me forever.”
― Becca Fitzpatrick, Crescendo

“I hung my fingertips on his waistband, tugging him closer.
Patch buried his face in the curve of my shoulder, his hands flexing over my back. He gave a low groan.
"I love you," he murmured into my hair. "I'm happier right now than I ever remember being.”
― Becca Fitzpatrick, Crescendo

“I watched him pitch the ball at a table neatly lined with six bowling pins, my stomach giving a little flutter when his T-shirt crept up in the back, revealing a stripe of skin. I knew from experience that every inch of him was hard, defined muscle. His back was smooth and perfect too, the scars from when he’d fallen once again replaced with wings—wings I, and every other human, couldn’t see.

“Five dollars says you can’t do it again,” I said, coming up behind him.

Patch looked back and grinned. “I don’t want your money, Angel.”

“Hey now, kids, let’s keep this discussion PG-rated,” Rixon said.

“All three remaining pins,” I challenged Patch.

“What kind of prize are we talking about?” he asked.

“Bloody hell,” Rixon said. “Can’t this wait until you’re alone?”

Patch gave me a secret smile, then shifted his weight back, cradling the ball into his chest. He dropped his right shoulder, brought his arm around, and sent the ball flying forward as hard as he could. There was a loud crack! and the remaining three pins scattered off the table.

“Aye, now you’re in trouble, lass,” Rixon shouted at me over the commotion caused by a pocket of onlookers, who were clapping and whistling for Patch. Patch leaned back against the booth and arched his eyebrows at me. The gesture said it all: Pay up.

“You got lucky,” I said.

“I’m about to get lucky.”
― Becca Fitzpatrick, Crescendo