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“Oh, honey, it’s wrong to judge someone on something they’re born with, like their race or sexual orientation. But if you choose to be an idiot, that’s a different story.”
It’s greedy. It’s scorching. It’s everything. If there were a Guinness World Record for the most amazing, mind-blowing, cock-stiffening, heart-pounding, panty-melting, burn-down-the-house kiss, we’d win that motherfucker hands down.
“You are a lion. You are a tiger. You were given this life because you’re strong enough to live it. Now get out there and let them hear your motherfucking roar!”
Bad shit happens. Good shit happens. Life happens. You can’t take any one thing and point to it as proof that life is any one way or the other. Life just is. And it keeps going.”
“Love isn’t something you choose, Angelface. It chooses you. And even if it only lasts a little while, it’s worth it. Even if it ends in flames, it’s worth it. Even if it cuts out your heart and leaves you a bruised, bloody mess, it’s worth it.”
“Because it’s love. Love is the only thing that really matters in this life. Love is everything.”
Then Linda says quietly, “Mr. Liebowitz blew himself up.” He lived in the unit directly above me. I close my eyes, already knowing what Linda’s going to say next. “I’m so sorry, Grace, but . . . your home was also destroyed in the explosion.
“It’s because it’s like someone asked me for a list of all the things that would make up my ideal woman and then created you in a lab for me. It’s because you’re funny and smart and sexy and independent and strong and can have any man you want, but you look at me like I’m a Christmas present. Like I’m a kept promise. Like I’m your favorite song.” His voice drops. “It’s because you’re perfect, but you make me feel like I am.”
Most Hideous Female Who Ever Lived, Watching you sleep is like watching one of those foreign art-house movies that win all the awards for cinematography and production design because they’re so ravishingly beautiful and moving, even though no one has any idea what they’re actually about. If that makes me sound like I’ve ingested some incredibly potent drugs, it’s because I have: you. I’m high on you. (I know you know that’s the title of a Survivor song, but for the sake of romance, we’ll both pretend we don’t. I’m working on some better material. These things take a minute.) You were sleeping
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I’m as giddy as a schoolgirl with her first crush. Even though my condo blew up this morning. Even though tomorrow morning I might have no idea who or where I am. Even though everything. Wow, this oxytocin is some powerful shit.
“Well, hello, gorgeous,” I say to my reflection. “Don’t you look like a million bucks!” I definitely feel like I do. I’m a homeless millionaire. I’d better not repeat that to Brody or he’ll start calling me Slum Dog.
No one ever told me it could be like this. Like you finally understand who you are and why you’re here, and all your broken pieces don’t even matter because there’s something so much more important to think about.
Not girl—woman. She’s all woman, the kind who knows how to turn a boy into a man, and a man into a slave.
seriously, she gives my brain a hard-on, I didn’t even know that was a thing—when
The two of them exchange a fierce, determined Amazon warrior look that I really hope I’m never the subject of.
“Well, if I know you, he’ll be giving you the D on the regular within twenty-four hours. I don’t know if you sprinkle pixie dust on your cooch or what, sister, but I’ve never seen anyone with such power to produce boners in the male population.”
“Oh yes, didn’t you know? That’s my superpower. My boner-inducing supercooch. I’m saving the world with it, one man at a time.” “You should be almost there by now!”
