McKenzie Ketron

“You smell good, too,” said Patch

It’s called a shower.” I was staring straight ahead. When he didn’t answer, I turned sideways. “Soap. Shampoo. Hot water.”

Naked. I know the drill.”
― Becca Fitzpatrick, Hush, Hush

“What are all these?" Clary asked.
"Vials of holy water, blessed knives, steel and silver blades," Jace said, piling the weapons on the floor beside him, "electrum wire - not much use at the moment but it's always good to have spares - silver bullets, charms of protetion, crucifixes, stars of David-"
"Jesus," said Clary
"I doubt he'd fit."
"Jace." Clary was appalled.”
― Cassandra Clare, City of Bones

“Fine! I'll throw on some clothes. Turn around. I'm in my pj's"
"I'm a guy. That's like asking a kid not to glance at the candy counter.”
― Becca Fitzpatrick, Silence

“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