Just the way he said her name undid her, loosed something tight and knotted underneath her rib cage, making her breathless.
"Tick. Tock. This is a clock.”
“I’m not dangerous,” I breathed.
He brought his face toward mine. “You are to me.”
And somehow, against all reason, we were kissing. I closed my eyes, and the world around me faded. The noise, the smoke … it was gone. All that mattered was the taste of his mouth, a mix of cloves and…
Don’t worry,” he murmured. “The dress stays on.” “Oh? Is that your decision to make?” “Yes,” he said. “You’re not losing your virginity in a dream. If that’s even possible. I don’t want to deal with the philosophical side of it. And besides, there’s no need to rush anyway. Sometimes it’s worth lingering on the journey for a while before getting to the destination.” Metaphors. This was the cost of making out with an artist. I nearly said as much. Then his hand slid up my bare leg, and I was lost again.
I tried to decide how I felt about the kiss, if I had liked it or resented it, but all I really remembered was the pressure of Gale’s lips and the scent of the oranges that still lingered on his skin.
All right, I’ll make a deal with you. You don’t interfere with my drinking, and I’ll stay sober enough to help you
everytime I got a line wrong woody was like "you better give that oscar back
Please, Haymitch, help me get through this trip!