Mate Ali Hazelwood Quotes

God bless libraries.

He told me once that sometimes, with some people, it's not about winning or losing, That with some people, it's just about playing. Though for the longest time, I didn't really believe him.

Why would you keep something that makes you think of me?” I feel him shrug. “Because I think of you anyway, Mallory.

Galaxies pass through his black eyes, and I wonder whether this second could last a century. Whether the universe could be just me and him, understanding each other on a forever loop.

I look at him looking at me, and overflow with something I cannot put a name to. “Because when I’m with you, Mallory, everything is different. When I’m with you, I want to play more than I want to win.

I’d rather drink a can of Axe body spray while feral raccoons feast on my exposed bone marrow than sit across from this twat.

Chess is a bad idea. Why? Look where it got me. It got you here. To me.

If someone had given me a piece of paper and asked me to list everything I liked, everything I dreamed of, everything that I was sure would make me happy, you would have been the final product of it

Are you going to run away?” I frown. “What?” “You usually run away from me. Are you going to?” He’s right. He’s also rude. “You usually lose your king to me. Are you going to?

Sometimes I’m scared that I imagined you. Sometimes I think you’re only in my head.

Her laughter adjusts the spin of his atoms.

Nolan stares like I’m the center of gravity of the room, like nothing else ever existed but me in all of space and time.

In my experience, commitment leads to expectations, and expectations lead to lies, and hurt, and disappointment-stuff I'd rather not experience, or force others to experience.

Way to make me feel excluded, bitches.” “Darcy,” we all say at once, all in the same disapproving tone. “What?” She shrugs from the door. “I thought we now just sprinkled the word generously in conversation. For seasoning.

because when I asked myself if I had the right to those tears, the answer was always no, and it was easy to stop myself.

You should stop swearing in front of twelve-year-olds. Mrs. Vitelli says that my brain’s still all squishy. I’ll probably end up in juvie if you swear just once more.” “Fuck.

He easily resigned himself to a lifetime without her, but… Simply put, he is unwilling to contemplate a universe in which she no longer exists.

Cute, how she thinks he’d ever let her out of his sight.

I’m sure there are plenty of people who’d love to play. Who’d probably pay just to sit across from you.’ ‘But I want you, Mallory.

Then, since you have never even been part of a super-tournament, what makes you qualified to be here today? Why you and not someone else?” I swallow. “I just . . .” Nothing. I got lucky. It’s a mistake. I’m not good enough and— “Man”—Nolan snorts into the mic—“she literally won the qualifying tournament to be here. Keep up, will you?

You told me that you loved me, Serena,” he says simply. His eyes are earnest, liquid. So profoundly good. “And while I’m willing to resign myself to an existence without the person I love, I refuse to condemn you to it.

I want to be the thorn in his side that he is in mine. I want him to dream of my stupid eyes.

I’ve got you, Mallory. Nothing bad is goi bc to happen. You can let yourself want this, because you already have it. You have me.

What Misery is to Lowe, you are to me.” Oh. Oh? Oh. “Is this a, um… terminal diagnosis?” His lips twitch. “No cure, I’m afraid.” “I see.” I clear my throat. “Well, this relationship sure escalated quickly.

I would throw away my pack, my life, and my entire world for you. Which is the exact reason I cannot have you.

He leans toward me over the table, dark eyes earnest, stars traveling on his skin. “Do you know how incredible you are?” I cannot breathe. Temporarily. So I force myself to laugh. “Really? You’re wasting your question on this?” “I am serious. Do you realize how exceptional you are, Mallory?

Nolan?' 'Hmm?' 'Why did you come to Vegas?' His fingers tighten around mine. my heart cartwheels. 'Mallory. I came because you did.

He is offensively, uniquely, devastatingly handsome.

you find me attractive.” “That might be the dictionary definition of ‘understatement,’ but yes.

I think about a deserted chessboard. Only the white king on it, standing on the home square. Alone, untethered, safe from threats. Free to roam.

This apartment he left you . . . It’s big for one person,” I murmur. “Want to move in?” His tone matches mine, intimate.

Did you guys break up?” she asks. “What’d he do?” “He . . . lied to me.” “Ah, yes. Lying. Something you’d never stoop to.

It has its ups and downs. I used to love it, but a little…sameness set in, and I actually thought about quitting. Then Mallory arrived. Now I love it again.

He would die for her, and he would kill for her. More importantly, he will live for her.

I smile faintly. “Is ‘less punchable’ Oz-speak for ‘nice’?” He arches one eyebrow. “And what does that mean?” “Well, you’re not the nicest guy I’ve ever met.” “I am a motherfucking delight, Greenleaf. And for the record, you and I are equally hot.

Because every single thing I glanced at, grazed, examined, eyed, or even considered when we were at the grocery store, every single thing I decided to walk past, every single thing I told myself I didn’t need—every single thing has somehow made it here, inside Koen’s house.

My beautiful mate. Taking it so well.

Big Bad Murderous Wolf in Charge of Thousands Cannot Handle Girl Crying.

Did she shoot me?” “Irene? Yup, but only in the arm. Leg? I don’t know. You were in wolf form.” “Where is she?” “Um, so. Koen was, um, mad.” “Ah.” “You have been de-aunted, I fear.” “How tragic,” I say, not giving a single fuck.

They don’t know what it’s like, being told that you’re inherently destined to be second best.

She’s an adult Were who doesn’t require coddling,” Koen interrupts. Once again, a bit jarring to hear, especially as he rolls thick, soft socks up my shins.

Before I leave, I think I need to hold you for a minute.

when I find Defne outside, sitting next to a sullen, gloomy, seething Oz. “What happened?” I ask. “My wedding planner is out of peonies. What do you think happened? I lost.” He glares. “This entire tournament could have been an email.

Mom cocks her head. “You two must work very closely together.” “Not nearly as much as I’d like.

Oh. “Is this a, um . . . terminal diagnosis?” His lips twitch. “No cure, I’m afraid.

Hang on. What would I have gotten if I’d chosen the other?” “A hug.” His eyes widen. Then squint. “What if I want to change my answer?

Sawyer is already there. Waiting. Sitting on Black, tracking all my movements. His eyes on me are unsettling. There’s something too sharp, too ravenous, almost acquisitive about them. Like the match is an afterthought, and I am what he came here for.

thinks that we have a thing.” “And we don’t?” I turn to glare at him. “You don’t have things. You told me so.” “I also said ‘until recently.

My love for her is boundless---and much stronger than my pride. Her happiness matters to me, more than being able to say that I am the cause of it.

I want to go outside, swallow a porcupine, and wait for the internal hemorrhaging to finish me.

You’re the most beautiful woman that I’ve ever seen,” he says simply.

He wakes up earlier, falls asleep later, works harder than anyone I’ve ever seen. The rigors he puts himself through, the single- minded, indefatigable stubbornness as he stares at the engines, dissecting, retracing, combining, projecting. He’s tireless, unshakable. Driven in an indomitable, near- obsessive way. This iron- hard tenacity of his is an oddly attractive quality.

What’s he doing?” “Giving Koch a two-moves odds.” “What’s that?” She covers her laugh with one hand. The room is a mess of whispers. “He’s telling Koch that he can beat him, even with a handicap.

And if you “ship them hard” and “want to believe,” you might enjoy this little clue: three weeks ago, at a charity event, Nolan Sawyer—who is a notoriously bad loser—did not stop to take questions from journalists. But eyewitnesses reported that when asked how he felt about the possibility of Mallory Greenleaf accruing enough points to take the No. 1 spot from him, he simply smiled before walking away.

Good news: you’re White.

That’s kinda sad,” Darcy says. “I see my family every day of every week of every year.” “That’s also kinda sad,” Sabrina mumbles. “Wouldn’t mind some space.

Is it very expensive, Malte? I ask, plucking a chocolate-covered strawberry from a tray. What? The vintage sexism you wear all the time.

Because when I´m with you, Mallory, everything is different. When I´m with you, I want to play more than I want to win.

Becasue, as Oz so lovingly put it, I finaly relaxed my sphincter enough to act like an emotionally mature person.

Yeah, I’ll get you the club’s laminated badge.” He studies me. “Are you going to cry?” “No.” “Are you going to pass eye water?

In my defense, Serena…” Koen lifts his shoulders. “It’s always fucking something with you.

Nice try, but I’m not going to a second location with you. I’m not even convinced I want to stay in this one.

You look better,” he declares. “Less like you’re going to collapse and start fertilizing the meadow.

You’re the most beautiful woman that I’ve ever seen,” he says simply. Like it’s not a big deal. Like he’s complimenting my taste in socks.

Look at her. Just—look at her.

I let out a laugh—a real one, my first since the tournament started, maybe even since Easton left. Emil stares with a kind, curious expression. “He has no chance,” he says cryptically.

I would take anything she chose to give me—the tiniest fraction or her entire world. I would take her for a single night knowing that I’ll lose her by morning, and I would hold on to her and never let go. I would take her healthy, or sick, or tired, or angry, or strong, and it would be my fucking privilege. I would take her problems, her gifts, her moods, her passions, her jokes, her body—I would take every last thing, if she chose to give it to me.

Guys, what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be at school?” “School, shmool.” Tanu waves her hand. “We live freely. We’re not chained by the obligations of modern mundanity.” “Winter break,” Emil explains.

He bends further, and there isn’t a single trace of doubt on his face. He’s an immovable object and an unstoppable force. And he says, slowly, “If you think I’m going to let you die, Serena, you know fuck all.

Greenleaf defeated Sawyer on the twelfth match, after eleven draws. As the first woman to not only qualify for but also win a chess championship, she made headlines. For her chess abilities, sure, but also because . .

Pretty sure being Alpha of this pack gives me a pass to run people through the paper shredder and make dinosaur-shaped nuggies out of what’s left.” He may have just threatened to macerate me, but at least he’s funny about it.

But this is my emotional support sandwich.” “Then have a mental breakdown.

Mallory, at least pretend to have some respect for the sport that is your livelihood.

You constantly act like you’re guilty of something awful. Like you deserve nothing but scraps for yourself.

Because when I’m with you, Mallory, everything is different. When I’m with you, I want to play more than I want to win.

I will be purchasing a cellular phone for your youngest gremlin.

It tastes, Koen thinks, like forever should.

I don’t think I can go on without you. Above all, I don’t think I can go on knowing that you need me, and I’m not by your side.

You are such a better audience than Misery.” I don’t care if Vampyres don’t eat. I’ll take her refusal of my cooking personally till the day I die.

His heart, in another body.

Good and evil are wide brushes that can't always paint the fine details of real life.

Foolish people will say foolish things.

It has its ups and downs. I used to love it, but a little . . . sameness set in, and I actually thought about quitting. Then Mallory arrived.” His knee suddenly pushes back against mine. “Now I love it again.” Mom cocks her head. “You two must work very closely together.” “Not nearly as much as I’d like.

We fit. The biological compatibility Lowe told me about, the one between mates . . . I don’t presume to know what that would be like. All I know is that we feel pretty fucking— “Perfect,

The Kingkiller, indeed. I watch him at work as he advances, surrounds the center, moves his knight and bishop in tandem, takes everything on his path, and . . . I feel breathless. Light-headed. Confused. That’s how beautiful his moves are. Cruel and unstoppable.

He told her that he would never touch her because he didn’t want her enough; in truth, he will never touch her because he wants her too much. The make-believe, he thinks, was kinder to both of them.

Of course not,' Darcy says. 'it's minuscule and the walls are made of toilet paper and Tazo tea bags. Mallory, can you please win that stupid World Championship and move us somewhere your smart checkers money?

Since you’re so sure that everyone here despises her, including me, let this be known: fuck with my mate, and I’m going to kill you so slowly, draw it out so long, tectonic plates will move and create whole new mountain ranges. And when the rest of your family comes to avenge you, I’ll do the same to them. And if your friends come, I’m not going to fucking stop. Not even if all that’s left of the pack is me and her. I will paint this entire territory green before I let anyone in the pack spill a single drop of red. Okay?

They don’t know what it’s like, being told that you’re inherently destined to be second best.” Suddenly, Defne’s expression shifts into an impish smile. “But it’s not true. And once we know it, they cannot take it away from us.

Some scientist in Europe took a bunch of women and had them play online chess against male opponents in their same rating bracket. When the female players didn’t know the gender of their opponent, they won fifty percent of the games. When the female players were led to believe that their opponent was a woman, they won fifty percent of the games. When they were told that they were playing against men, their performance dropped. But in truth, their opponents were always the same.

Well, there’s always my actual name. But if you insist on a nickname, I’d prefer something with a bit more…” “More?” “More teeth.” His eyebrow rises. “Root canal?” “No. Come on, you know what I mean. Something that inspires fear.” “Real estate market crash.

You don’t know me,” I yell after him. A cliché—that’s who I am. “And I don’t particularly care to.” He opens the driver’s door of his Mini. “Not if this is who you are.

Listen. I try hard not to learn things about the people around me, but . . . I’ve heard about your father. I know you take care of your family. I know you’re dealing with stuff like”—his chin points at my yard—“that rusty trampoline. But if you unzip your asshole and pry your head out of it, you might realize that there’s more to life than feeling sorry for yourself.

Why? Is it because you can’t stand to have someone best you? Are you like Koch, unable to accept that you once lost to a woman?” “What?” He looks genuinely appalled. “No. I am nothing like him.

I was being a patient, considerate, respectful, non-intrusive, accommodating mate. I was trying to—” “Koen, you are the most intrusive mate ever. You never stop staring at me when we’re in the same room, you wake me up to have sex in the middle of the night, you keep tearing my clothes, and you want to be with me every second you’re not gone on pack business. You’re not really the space-giving kind of partner, and—” “I’m trying. I could be way fucking worse.” “—and I’m not complaining, because I wouldn’t have you any other way.

Where would I bite you, to show that you’re mine?” Koen goes still at the question. And then, after processing it for entirely too long, he lets out a soft, explosive curse against my collarbone. “I hate it,” he breathes out. “What?” “How perfect you are. I spent the last twenty years hoping that if there was a mate for me out there, I’d never come across them. And then I found you, and, Serena… there isn’t one thing I would change about you. Or one single thing I regret about knowing you.

And if you decide to continue torturing yourself, could you use your headphones?” Oz glares at me from his desk. “Some of us are not unlearned prodigies mistakenly assumed to be Nolan Sawyer’s new concubine. Some of us have to actually practice chess.

I was a kid, and you were a barely older kid, we both played chess, both in the same geographical area. And for some reason we never met, but I have to wonder if maybe we were at the same tournament or at the same club, just in different divisions. I have to wonder if maybe we played on the same chess sets, one after the other. I have to wonder if we were meant to be, and only missed each other narrowly. Because when I stopped playing, I was done. Done. Years passed, and it should have been it for you and me, we should have been that narrow miss and nothing more. But Defne’s tournament happened, and it was . . . a second chance.

Well, that’s too bad. Because I don’t want you to feel safe.” “You… don’t?” Glaring, he leans toward me, full of something vicious that I cannot name. “I want you to be scared shitless, Serena. I want you so fucking terrified of me, you won’t even dream of not doing what I say. I want you to feel like your soft little throat is in my hands, and I want you to be so afraid that I’ll tear into it that when I tell you to do something for your own fucking safety, you won’t consider saying anything but ‘Yes, Alpha’.

I arch an eyebrow. “Weren’t we talking about your Baudelaire affair?” “I don’t really remember what happened. We— Wait.” “What?” I lean closer, wide eyed. “Kasparov was there.” “The former world champion?” “Yes. He wanted to play with me.” “And?” “What do you mean, and? I went to play.” “Let me get this straight. You chose playing chess with an old man over getting laid?” He looks at me like he’s a cloistered nun and I’m explaining Bitcoin to him. “Did you get that it was Kasparov?