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I want to be swept off my feet, not swept under a rug after a one-night stand.
A reporter once asked what he eats before a race and he somehow managed to turn that into a debate over which mythical creature he could win a fight against. He landed on a unicorn, in case you were wondering.
Excuse me? Formula 1 is sexist? I’m not saying he’s wrong, but this is the man who asked if the Chinese food we were ordering had any misogyny in it. He meant MSG and somehow confused the two.
My parents warned me about drugs when I was a kid. They didn’t warn me about how addictive a smile could be.
“Oh, and although this isn’t a test, if you say La Croix, you’re automatically blacklisted in my book. Because it tastes like flavored static electricity and anyone who claims to like it is a liar.”
wish that cookie-cutter fairy tales were written for guys like me. But they’re not. They’re written for girls like Ella. The ones who deserve a happily ever after.
I couldn’t help but chuckle when she told the nurse I requested a small snack and then proceeded to eat the Jell-O and saltines they brought.
“Okay, love the enthusiasm here,” I say slowly. “And not to burst your bubble or anything, but I feel like maybe we should eat Italian food cooked by, I don’t know, Italian people in Italy?”
I’m trying not to hide from my emotions, but sometimes I’m scared to dive in because they’re so deep I’m worried I’ll drown.
“I asked.” I’m enjoying this way too much. “Your mum requested me on Facebook a while back and I accepted. I sent her a message asking for it.”
“King Dong is the size of a small child, so probably not.”
“We weren’t each other’s firsts,” Blake says, “but I sure as hell hope we’ll be each other’s lasts.”
“You’re proof an angel can walk through hell and make burns look beautiful, baby.”
She’s not my better half, she’s my whole fucking heart.
