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This last kind of woman inevitably reminded him of his mom, and after sleeping with them, he needed therapy with a punching bag.
she battled the urge to press herself against him like a stripper on a pole.
his folded T-shirt—which she’d spent a good minute covertly breathing in like rubber cement inside the bathroom—she
she had the kind of nipples men and babies dreamed about.
What
“Oh fuck, am I sitting on your come cushions?”
Children brandishing sticks were horrifying.
For whatever reason, none of the women in this house cooked. He’d had to learn in order to survive.
“You could, you know. You’ve got the body,” he said with a teasing grin. “With my coordination, I’d concuss myself on the pole.”
She wanted to open the drawers and see how he kept his socks, but that seemed intrusive.
a pretzel formation of limbs on the carpet by the upright piano. It seemed to contain Michael and another girl. Stella would have been jealous, but the whole ordeal looked really uncomfortable.
Adorable grandma. Was she staying away from the lawn shears lately?
Here I am talking about replacing the underwear I tore having hot bathroom sex with you, and you’re zoning out to think about econometrics.”
If he stopped buying boxers now, it meant he loved her back.
What had he accomplished with his life? What had he really done? A lot of dry cleaning, that was what.
How did one like something a reasonable amount? If she was being realistic with herself, she had to admit this simply wasn’t a possibility for her.
Girl same
“If we get arrested for lewd acts in public, they better let us share a cell.”
