She was tall and wiry, a dark smudge - a bruise or dirt - marring the light, inner surface of her forearm. Piercings dotted the shells of her ears, a tattoo peeking out from under her waistband. Drew’s breath caught and held as she turned and her face came into view. She was beautiful in the way that bonfires were - mesmerizing and more than a little dangerous - brilliant rather than pretty. Like those flames, she drew him forward.
-Danika Stone
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