Krista Ritchie

“Kiss the sky with me,” Connor whispers, a beautiful smile pulling his lips, “and don’t ever come down.”

And you don’t need a guy to fulfill you. I wish you would remember that.

“Like I was saying, most rich girls all tend to do the same thing. Find a guy at an Ivy League who will be incredibly successful, marry early, and have their future set without having to do the extra lifting—straight As, stellar recs, full CVs. I’m not judging. If I was a girl, I’d probably be on the same path. Hell, I’ll end up marrying the type.”

Save your money. I’d rather write these hours down as voluntary. It gives me more community service credentials.”

Being called weird by Connor is like a unicorn calling a horse magical

Does it hurt—hearing the truth?

“Are you going to be mean?”

I’d say you could win the next one, but you won’t.”

He licks his bottom lip and leans closer to whisper, “In this moment, I’m yours.”

He smiles, in between each kiss, knowing the effect he has on me. His lips press to my jaw…