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Kindle Notes & Highlights
I have bags under my eyes, and they definitely aren’t designer. Oscar de la Renta? More like Old Navy.
As if five minutes ago, he hadn’t asked me if he could pop a woman’s breast implant by grabbing it too hard. So excuse my confusion.
When she calls a forward on the Lakers the “human equivalent of period cramps,” I nearly fall off the couch with laughter. Who says shit like that?
It’s simply dinner with a friend who happens to make my dick throb uncomfortably.
Fried calamari and crispy Brussels sprouts with bacon for my appetizers, lamb chops as my main, potatoes au gratin and spring rolls—from my favorite restaurant in China—as my sides, my sister’s banoffee pie for dessert, and green tea and whiskey for my drinks.
Great answer honestly
“Just don’t give up on him,” Andreas tells me. “He’s a tough egg to crack, but he’s worth the scramble.”
“Time for the world to scream your name,” I joke. “Your favorite part.” “I’d rather it was you screaming my name, love, but this’ll do for now.”
And when he opens the door to his car for me and tells me I look beautiful, the butterflies decide to snort cocaine or something because they are losing their fucking minds.
I fight back the tears that threaten to spill onto my cheeks. “What I want is you. You’re just too scared to see that I’m what you want, too.”
Why does seeing him with kids make me feel like my IUD is going to eject itself?
What I want to do is curl up next to Ella and hear about her trip back home while she runs her fingers through my hair.
I’m pretty sure there’s a thong on the lamp.
She’s in boxer shorts and a sweatshirt with mismatching socks peeking out of her hotel slippers. Her hair’s in a haphazard bun and she’s not wearing an ounce of makeup. She’s still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.
“It tastes just like my grandma’s recipe.” I groan. “Can you not talk about your nan right now?” She smacks my arm playfully, happily dipping a pita “chip” in spinach artichoke dip. The chip versus fry and crisp versus chip issue has reached a standstill. “It is your grandma’s recipe, by the way.”
My palms are sweaty with nerves, and he immediately notices my hands shaking. “Hey.” He peppers my face with sweet kisses. “Say the word and we can stop whenever you want, baby. I’ll go slow.”
“You’re proof an angel can walk through hell and make burns look beautiful, baby.”
