Will Grayson Will Grayson Quotes Page Numbers Mga Nobela at Kwento

I felt a sudden dampness on my face. Tears. I was crying. Then Eliza's phone buzzed in her hand. A message flashed on the screen. Her face went pale, lips trembling. "What's wrong?" Greyson asked, reaching for her phone. The screen was filled with messages sent from my number, each one a vicious insult directed at her: [You pathetic slut. Hope you and your little bastard get run over by a car.] [You don't deserve to live happy.] [Give Greyson back to me!]

he noted. “I was not giving up. I was wounded,” I responded defiantly. “And yet, here you are healthy as can be,” he stated. “How was it a dream? And how were you there?” I questioned. “Jessica, start thinking. You need to be on top of your game when the shit hits the fan,” Grayson commented finishing his sandwich in a couple of bites.

Grayson to lash out or something, but he simply sighed and got his phone out of his pocket dialing a number, "Paige, get us some coffee in here" Mr Grayson said almost immediately, I heard her say something I couldn't make out, but from the look on Grayson's face he didn't like it, "Paige just do as I have instructed "He said with a scowl on his face, but something stirred in me, I have a feeling Paige doesn't get the best treatment here, "Just make them all black and put the milk and sugar by the side"he finally said before putting the phone down,

“I don’t want anything else. I only want you. That’s all.” His words filled the room with silence. Only the ticking of the wall clock could be heard, slow yet piercing. Kimmy bit her lower lip, trying to hold back emotions that almost dragged her along. She smiled again, this time more calmly. “Then… be patient, Gray. Don’t rush. Don’t take one little kiss as a big sign.” Grayson exhaled a long breath. He turned away, staring at the window as if searching for answers outside. In his heart, he muttered: Damn it. What must I do to make you truly see me, Kimberly?

I woke to the smell of coffee again. For a second, I forgot everything: no spies, no news reports, no Carter family drama. Just this morning. I rolled over and saw Grayson sitting by the window, shirtless, reading something on his phone. I smiled sleepily. “Why do you always wake up looking like a magazine cover?” I asked. Grayson didn’t look up. “Why do you always wake up talking?” he replied. I threw a pillow at him.

Charlie's pinned against the wall like a butterfly in a display case—helpless, trapped. When Grayson speaks, his voice comes out so low and cold that I shiver despite myself. "Let me make myself fucking clear—"