Bokelskere.no

I hadn’t smiled or laughed so much in a long while, and I was finding it healing.

Her heart beat out the syllables of his name.

“If you put another cold hand on me, Carter Mason Ambrose, I’ll knee you in the balls,” she all but growled at him. That sexy jerk did nothing, but laugh and wiggle his fingers at her. Just as he attempted to slide his other hand inside, her knee came up. He stopped her with a twist of his hips.

“You shouldn’t hide those.”
“Hide what?” Her sweet breath fanned over his face.
“Your freckles.”
“Men don’t like freckles.”
Chuckling, he continued his exploration of her face and eased his hand behind her neck. He wanted to undo the ridiculous bun she’d put her hair up in.
“This man does.” Then he said the worst thing possible. “In fact, I’d like to see if you have freckles in other places.”

“Hold up. I bet you’re back for my drinks. They don’t make them like me in the city, do they? I’ve ruined you for all other bartenders.”1

“You love how irritating I am. Just like I love how fucking irritating you are.”

My breath knocks against my lungs when he reaches forward, clips a fallen strand of hair away from my face, and tilts his head to the side.
“I don’t get it.” I blink, shuddering at his touch.
“Get what?”
“How a man could cheat on you.”

This damn woman has buried herself so deep in my fucking veins that there’s no way I can cut her out.

"I've never heard you admit you're not good at something."
"Well, it happens so rarely."

"I'm sorry," the guy whispers.
"It's okey." But it's not. He called me a freak. I heard it, and so did Noah. Once an insult like that has been released, there's no way to take it back. It becomes one more cut on my soul.

Morelli looked down at my utility belt.
"What kind of a statement is this?"
"Fear."
He gave his head a disbelieving shake. "You know what my biggest fear is? I worry that someday you might be the mother of my children."

Loser? Excuse me? Loser? Okey, that does it. No more Ms. Nice Person. No more reasoning. This jerk is going down. "Open this door!" I yelled. "Open this goddamn door!"

This is why people don’t speak up. Because when they do, their life that’s already ruined is completely destroyed with no repercussions to the person who pulled the trigger. They move on. They live. While victims suffer.

“We can play the what-if game for the rest of our lives, but it doesn’t change anything. What’s done is done. We just have to move forward. It doesn’t do anyone any good rehashing the past.”

I know that they have trauma and pain to overcome, but I hope they can find some peace in sharing their truth.

And I slip into a place that’s so dark that I don’t know if I’ll ever find my way out.