More on this book
Community
Kindle Notes & Highlights
Read between
October 18 - November 3, 2024
Ophelia: Do I need to remind you that the holidays are a time for religious reflection and doing good deeds? Nat babyyyy: Bacardi is my religion and I WILL be reflecting on it later
“So, let me get this straight—you’re a thirty-five-year-old pilot with commitment issues, who’s lived with his roommate so long you two could jointly file your taxes?” “Sweetheart, if I’m your dream guy just say it.”
“I had to wake you up somehow. You were performing parts of the Kama Sutra on my bed spread. It felt like a thing I needed to give consent for.”
“Why didn’t you just get up and sleep in your own bed then?” “I didn’t want to disturb you after you fell asleep. You looked cute as fuck drooling on my pillows.”
“That’s what it feels like when a man makes you come. Don’t ever fucking forget it.”
“The first time I make you come tonight, you’ll look me right in my eyes and say, ‘Thank you, Frankie.’”
The woman was an enigma. Every interaction was like a new room at a fun house. I thought I had her figured out, and then all of a sudden, I was surrounded by mirrors and walking directly into double-sided glass.
“My sisters would love this place. I should send them a picture.” “I’ll take one,” I offered. “Oh no, I don’t need to be in it.” She chuckled nervously. “You look like you belong in this garden, Ophelia. Now get your cute, sunshine ass up on that bridge so I can take a fucking picture.”
“Now smile like you’re enjoying leisurely butterfly watching with the man who’s going to blow your back out later.”
“Bet that uniform got you anything your pretty face wanted,” she teased. “Maybe, but it wouldn’t have gotten me you.”
“There, now it can slurp on your juices.” I grimaced. “God, O.” “I know, okay? I knew the second I said it.” “Can’t take you anywhere.”
“What are you doing?” I shouted. “I’m taking your advice.” She walked backward toward the door. “Not sleeping with a guy on the first date.” That was suddenly the worst advice I’d ever given.
“If I fuck you once, O, I’m fucking you ten more times.”
You are the most distracting thing that’s ever happened to me.
“I like you, O,” he murmured. “I want to lock you up and keep you here so you can’t leave. So no one else can ever have you but me.”
“You know right here when it’s right, because it starts to hurt. Even when you’re happy, it hurts. Because it aches to imagine not having that happiness. You worry, you lose sleep, you act out. Anything to keep that feeling from becoming comfortable. When you can bear it, it’s lost.”
“Home is subjective.” He waved my words out of the air. “A smell, a place, a feeling, a memory. A person.”
“You are daringly pessimistic this morning, brother.” Mateo inched over and patted me on the back. “I like to think all the stars in our lives are aligning and everything you’ve ever dreamed of is about to bite you in your grumpy fucking ass.”
Ophelia. All the time, every second of the day. I wanted her like a tattoo. I wanted her in my veins, ink scabbed over, healed inside of me, part of me, on display, branded.
“You’re allowed to be bummed out. And there doesn’t have to be a textbook answer to everything, Ms. Teacher. Sometimes shit just stinks and you light a”—she sat forward and twisted the candle on the table toward us—“vanilla bean latte candle and pretend it doesn’t.”
“But I know my friend and, don’t take this the wrong way, sometimes he needs someone to play with his toys to remind him he doesn’t share well with others.”
“We let this happen, we fucking did this to each other, O. And now we have to deal with it like adults. I have to find a way to bleed you from my veins, but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to treat you like what you are while you’re still here, and that is fucking mine.”
“Good, stay fucking mad at me. Fight me. Hit me. Give me your worst, Ophelia. Give me every last thing like a punishment, because I’m going to be thorough, and I’m going to remind you why there will never be someone else.”
The worst part about being stubborn and self-effacing was the cement-in-your-stomach feeling when someone else was right.
“Can’t leave you alone for five minutes, Trouble.” “I agree.” I said. “You should never, ever leave me alone again.”
“Francesco.” “Don’t threaten me with my government name like that. You know how it turns me on.”
