59 Quotes About Becca-fitzpatrick

I don't have a car."His eyes sliced into mine. "I walked here," I explained. "I'm on foot.""Angel," he said in a way that sounded like he sincerely hoped I was joking.

I don't have the body for this," I quipped, lifting my chin to a voluptous woman nearby who shook her hips zealously to the beat. "No curves."Jev's eyes held mine. "Are you asking my opinion?

Patch's eyes made a slow assessment of me, sharpening to vivid black. "I'm going to have a hard time sending you off with Scott in that dress. Just a heads-up: If you come home and the dress looks even slightly tampered with, I will track Scott down, and when I find him, it won't be pretty.

I missed you, Angel. Not one day went by that I didn't feel you missing from my life. You haunted me to the point that I began to believe Hank had gone back on his oath and killed you. I saw your ghost in everything. I couldn't escape you and I didn't want to. You tortured me, but it was better than losing you.

Do you think they're going to buy that a guy in tacky leather chaps dances like this?" I scoffed when he twirled me back into his embrace. "Keep it up, and I'll put you in the chaps." He didn't smile, but I sensed an undercurrent of amusement.

If I asked you to do something for me, I don't suppose you'd listen?" When he had my attention, he continued, "I'm going to take you home. Try to forget tonight happened. Try to act normal, especially around Hank. Don't mention my name."By way of an answer, I shot him a black look and swung out of the Tahoe. He followed suit, coming around to my side. "What kind of answer is that?" He asked, but his voice wasn't nearly so gruff.

Nothing makes me happy quite like a boatload of freshly fried fast food, smothered in good old MSG.

This isn't your fight, Patch," I said quietly.His eyes burned with an intensity I'd never seen before. "You're mine, Angel, and don't you forget it. Your fights are my fights. What if something had happened today? It was bad enough when I thought your ghost was haunting me; I don't think I could handle the real thing.

I could get you to smile like that, and without sales tax." I whirled around to find the real Patch standing in the fitting room behind me. He was wearing jeans and a snug white tee. His arms were folded loosely over his chest, and his black eyes smiled down at me. Heat that wasn't entirely uncomfortable flushed through my body. "I could make all kinds of pervert jokes right now," I quipped.