Slow Dance

by Rainbow Rowell

He was tall enough, and strong when he needed to be, but there was something stunted about him. Like maybe he got taller at the expense of some other vital function.

Even when she drove him crazy, he didn’t exactly want less of her.

Shiloh poked his shoulder. “When you tell me what to do, it just makes me want to do it.” “Because you’re irrational and possibly need meds. Don’t mess with my uniform.”

She tried not to smile. “Is the problem that your life, your lover, your lady, is the sea?”

We were both only half-baked and double stupid back then.

“People in movies are always becoming blood brothers and getting invited to circle jerks,” Mikey complained. “What kind of movies are you watching?” Cary asked. Shiloh piped up—“What’s a circle jerk?” “No,” Cary said.

“Do you want to leave?” Tom picked up his coat. “Let’s leave. We’ll say somebody got sick—Daniel can make himself puke just by thinking about scrambled eggs.”

“This bread is really good,” he said. “I get it at a pretentious bakery where no one likes me.”

“I love you,” she said. “Backwards and forwards. Coming and going.”

I think I could probably date a woman. (This feels very weird to talk about. Can you talk about homosexuality on a military computer?)

“It’s okay. I mean, I’m willing to tell you the whole story—it’s just a messed-up story.” He took another bite. “You already know I’m white trash.”

“I’m going to make you feel so consistently good that the days lose specificity.” “Is that a threat?” “Yes. I’m going to obliterate your memory. All you’re going to remember at the end is a blur of milk and honey.”