51 Quotes About Lorenzo-gambini

Are you done crying now?” he asks.I laugh again. “You’re such an asshole.”“I was going to talk to you,” he says, “but you might blow snot on me with all that blubbering.

My wicked little belladonna, beautiful, deadly, so tempting to keep tasting but so goddamn toxic every touch is just too much.

I raise my hands, still clutching the grenade. They could try to take it from me, try to disarm me... hell, they could even go ahead and shoot me in the face... but they’d have four seconds to save themselves before we all got blown to pieces.They take a few steps back, but nobody lowers their weapons, like guns are going to help them in this situation. Rock, paper, scissors, motherfuckers... you better take your pick and hope like hell you win.

I love this dangerous, menacing asshole.

What do you want, Morgan?” he asks after a moment, his voice low. “Just... tell me what you want from me. I can’t stand here and do this with you.”“You named me,” I say. That’s not the first time I’ve heard him call me by my real name. Morgan. “You only name what you keep, remember?

I know he’s just a man. A man with flaws. A man with his own problems. And I know he can’t solve my problem. Not really. He can’t fix what’s wrong with me. Nobody can. They can’t even understand. But being around him, it makes me feel things, things I’ve missed just as much as the music and the laughter, things that make me feel alive again.

Lorenzo Gambini, I presume? Or would you prefer to be called—”“Sir,” I cut in before he can say Scar. “You can call me sir, if it gives you the tingles. Otherwise, let’s just stick with Gambini.

I look at him, not because he just told me to, but because of the word he used. Baby. It does the kind of thing to my chest that makes me feel uncomfortable—the squeezing, tightening, pitter-pattering bullshit. Ugh, knock it off, heart. You’ve got no business reacting to him.

For the first time in a long time, I feel this strange twinge inside of me. It’s hard to describe. It’s a tightening in my chest. It’s a tingling in my fingertips. It feels as if my lungs are trembling, like the weak punk bitches are trying to stop functioning. The woman has got me all fucked up here, flipped upside down and inside out.It’s like the striking of a match.All it needs is that spark.