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“This is highly inappropriate,' I muttered. His answering chuckle stroked my nerves in all the wrong- and right- ways. 'More inappropriate than you masquerading as a wholly different kind of maid at the Red Pearl?' My jaw snapped shut so quickly and tightly, I was surprised I didn't crack a molar. 'Or more inappropriate than the night of the Rite, when you let me-' 'Shut up,' I hissed. 'I'm not done yet,' he said, his chest pressing against my back. 'What about sneaking off to fight the Craven on the Rise? Or that diary-?' 'I get your point, Hawke. Can you stop talking now?' 'You're the one who started this.' 'Actually, no, I did not.' 'What?' A low laugh left him. 'You said, and I quote, "this is wildly, grossly, irrefutably...' 'Did you just learn what an adverb is today? Because that is not what I said.' Hawke sighed. 'Sorry.' He didn't sound sorry about it at all.” — Jennifer L. Armentrout