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320 pages, Paperback
First published May 22, 2014
It’s then that I notice the bandana hanging out the back pocket of his jeans. I know what that little scrap of material signifies. He’s a gang member. I shake my head to myself.See? What the fuck is that? Racist much?! Guuuuuuuurl.
‘She’ll stand out like a habanero chilli in an ice-cream store if she goes dressed like that,’ Marissa snaps back.Seriously? SERIOUSLY?
I contemplate for the first time the fact that I’m sitting in a stolen unmarked police car with a murderer who I just helped escape from custody.Where's your fucking fancy international education now? Did it serve you well? I WENT TO A PUBLIC SCHOOL WITH 2000 STUDENTS.
'You got what my mum would call good posture. And your legs. You have a dancer’s legs.’Liva: I really am not beautiful, I mean I have all these freakish red hair and stupid slanted, exotic eyes inherited from my Slavic mother.
I don’t naturally have a ballet dancer’s build. I’ve got boobs and hips for a start, long legs but also a long torso.
I feel his eyes skimming the top of my breasts.And Exhibits 3A-3ZZZZZZZ. All examples of him ogling you like a fucking jailbird who hasn't seen a woman in 30 years of solitary confinement. Then there are examples of him acting like a fucking asshat and commenting about other women's weight. EXHIBIT 4.
‘You got no worries there. You should see my cousin Maria. She’s one Krispy Kreme away from having her own zip code.’Liva: But your honor! He's in love with me! He respects me!
‘You don’t drink coffee, don’t take sugar, don’t eat cream. What are you,’ he asks through his mouthful, ‘anorexic?’RESPECTING YOU DOESN'T MEAN HE SIMULTANEOUSLY ACCUSES YOU OF BEING ANOREXIC WHILE CALLING ANOTHER GIRL FAT.
I could easily imagine him gracing a billboard advertising some hipster fashion brand. Instead, I think to myself, he’s posing for mug shots.Right after you almost got murdered again. Exhibit 7.
I note the strips of muscle running the length of his arms and the fact that they are trembling ever so slightly.As you're about to break and enter. Exhibit 8.
He headed on around to the front modelling the NYPD sweater and a swagger straight out of Miami Vice.Wondering what to do and where to go next. Exhibit 9.
I notice the beads of water still clinging to his hair and the fact that his T-shirt is sticking to him like a second layer of skin, revealing every line of muscle.FINDING OUT THAT JAAAAAAAAAAAAAAIME IS IN DEEP DEEP SHIT. Exhibit 10.
I put a hand on his forearm, feeling the hardness of muscle, rigid with anger.It's like every single fucking action you made has to emphasize his hard fucking muscles. He has muscles! I GET IT! I DO, TOO. WE ALL DO. GET THE FUCK OVER IT. PEOPLE ARE TRYING TO KILL YOU!!!!!!!
I don’t fall for guys. I don’t fall. Period.Khanh: BUT THAT'S EXACTLY WHAT YOU FUCKING DID. FOR THE ENTIRE FUCKING NOVEL YOU FALL INTO INSTA-LOVE WITH A DOUCHEBAG/CRIMINAL WITH A HEART OF GOLD. CAN YOU BE ANY MORE FUCKING CLICHéD?!
He’s watching me with a mixture of wariness and worry, as though I’m an unexploded landmine.Khanh: ENOUGH! ENOUGH! BURN HER! BURN HER!!!!!
He’s staring at me fiercely, his jaw clenching and unclenching as though he’s trying to dislodge a tooth.
He shifts his weight slightly and his thigh presses against my hip. I draw in a breath. My free hand- the one not holding the gun, rests on his upper chest. I slide it up and over his shoulder and with my eyes still on him I pull him even closer, until he's pressed completely against me and I can feel the hardness of muscle through his T-shirt and his jeans. My heart explodes in my chest as I tilt my head back further, reaching on tiptoe, and his mouth finds mine in the darkness.
His kiss is hard, full of heat, uncontrolled.
“You have to let go of this idea that we’re in control of life. We’re not.”