Jev stroked his chin. "Do I look like a summer fling?

What does ‘hmm’ have to do with anything? Could you ever use more than five words? All this grunting and minced words make you come across—primal.”

His smile tipped higher. “Primal.”

“You’re impossible.”

“Me Jev, you Nora.

How about a ... deal?" His face was bent down, shadowed, and he looked up at me through his lashes. The effect was an impression of trustworthiness. "Help me make tacos, and I'll answer a dew of your questions.

He tried to pull me against him, and I bit him on the lip.
He licked his lip with the tip of his tongue. 'Did you just bite me?

He inclined his head at my dress. "What's the occasion?"

"Homecoming," I said, twirling. "Like?"

"Last I heard, Homecoming requires a date."

"About that," I hedged. "I'm sort of...going with Scott. We both figure a high-school dance is the last place Hank will be patrolling."

Patch smiled, but it was tight. "I take that back. If Hank wants to shoot Scott, he has my blessing.

I can't imagine why you're so interested."
He shook his head. "Interested? We're talking about you. I'm fascinated.