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My rental car blasts Kesha because, hello, I’m a woman on a solo trip, figuring out her shit—of course I’m listening to Kesha.
I can’t talk to Rooney, not at any length, and be coherent. I can barely look at her and breathe properly.
Playlist: “Make Out,” Julia Nunes
So far this one has the best playlist
“You too.” He grimaces. “Uh. I meant—” He sighs. “Never mind. Good night.”
And we’ve all been there
And then real estate in my jeans’ groin area is hard to come by.
What an incredibly creative way to say that, sir
charcoal suit, white shirt, no tie—because fuck anything tight around my neck—matching
Mmhmm
“I was gonna say you can kiss your bride, man, but you beat me to the punch.”
“How about tea?” I don’t want tea. I want an ice bath.
“You’re such a sweetheart,” she croons to him, affectionately massaging around his ears. The dog shuts his eyes and sways dreamily. Lucky bastard.
Jealous of the dog are we?
“You’ve got a lot of nerve, strolling down here with gluten-free dessert and the perfect solution to my problem.”
“Now,” Viggo says, stretching out on the sofa again, a devious grin lighting up his face. “Why would a boxer-brief-wearing person like yourself have a pair of fancy underpants in your humble abode, Mr. Declared Bachelor?”
Viggo, the king. As always
“That’s the one to read.” “Why?” “Because I think this one has a character you’ll identify with.” “Unlikely.” I rarely identify with anyone. “He has highly specialized interests, is blunt to a fault, and may actually be more emotionally constipated than you.” “Give me that.” I
Hand it over
“He hugged me last night,” Oliver gloats. Viggo gasps and throws me a wounded glance.
Have you truly experienced nature until you’ve shit your brains out in a field? I think not.
“What do you take me for? A gossip?” “Yes.” “Fair,”
“Resident busybody isn’t a title you claim without seriously living up to it. Now—” She yanks a box of condoms off the wall behind her, where she keeps stuff that kids steal too often, and throws them in my canvas bag. Then she freezes, fishes them out, and switches them for a new box stamped with a bold, oversized letter L. “If you’re anything like your mother says your father is—”
SARAH THIS IS A GROCERY STORE
Shouldn’t you be—dare I suggest this emotion for you—happy?”
I’m dealing with this internal chaos the good old-fashioned way. Smashing shit.
This book is maybe the best grumpy sunshine I’ve read in a long time
We both take bites. They fall right out of our mouths back into the bowls. Axel does a convulsive whole-body shudder. “Christ, woman. At least microwave it.”
reading whatever it is lawyers read for their jobs,
“I just don’t . . . know sometimes, how I feel. It’s like my emotions are deep inside me, and I don’t surface them as fast as other people. Other times, my emotions are there, right below the surface, and I’m so overwhelmed with them, words swarm my brain, and I can’t quiet them enough to concentrate and find the right one.
!!!
She glances my way and catches me staring at her. “You’re not watching the sunrise,” she says. “No.” A blush stains her cheeks as she smiles faintly, her expression perplexed. “You love sunrises.” “I love you more.”
WAHHHH
“Whenever I saw you, whenever you were around, and especially once you got here, my chest would . . . ache.” I rest my hand over her heart, showing her. “Right here. I thought I had a cardiovascular problem. I was googling shit, worrying I had some kind of corrosive disease, or the most severe case of heartburn ever known in medical history.”
“Considering you used to walk out of a room when I walked in.” “You gave me heart palpitations. I was supposed to think that was a good thing?
“How much of that book have you read?” he asks, tugging off his headphones and giving me a wry glance over his shoulder. “And how much of the time have you spent staring at my ass?” I arch an eyebrow, snapping my book shut. “I got a few pages in.” “I’ve been painting for two hours.” “Don’t I know it.”
