He grinned. It was a wicked grin, the kind that made the blood in Clary's veins run a little faster. You want to go on a date? Caught off guard, she stammered. A wh-what? A date, Jace repeated. Often 'a boring thing you have to memorize in history class,' but in this case, 'an offering of an evening of blisteringly white-hot romance with yours truly. Really? Clary was not sure what to make of this. Blisteringly white-hot? It's me, said Jace. Watching me play Scrabble is enough to make most women swoon. Imagine if I actually put in some effort. ✨ Cassandra Clare (2014). City of Lost Souls, p.196, Simon and Schuster

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