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They’re all attainable. Not nearly as gorgeous. Poor by comparison.
okay damn
Crew hums as he looks outside. “Unseasonably chilly tonight.” “Feel free to take your weatherman audition elsewhere.” This time, the hum almost sounds like a laugh. “I was referring to your personality, dear.”
lmao
He shrugs. “Sure. This will be a challenge for us anyway. Let alone a woman.” I close my eyes and mentally call Asher every name I can think of. My best man just ensured my fiancée will be at my bachelor party.
so funny 😐
That jealousy—an emotion I’ve always abhorred in women—would thrill me coming from Scarlett.
Where’s my man who likes my jealous streak
“If I thought it was ridiculous, I wouldn’t be going to Paris next week to help out however I can.” Without thinking it through—at all—that’s the reply that flies out of my mouth.
Purrrrr
But that’s the beauty of dreams: they’re yours. No one else’s. You don’t need permission or justification to pursue them. You can give them relevance and importance and meaning all by yourself.
“What are you doing?” she murmurs. “Carrying you.” “Don’t stop,” she instructs, her voice sleepy. “I won’t.” “Don’t give up on me.” “I won’t,” I repeat.
Wild, raw beauty is the most devastating sort.
I’ve accepted it, embraced it even. But that’s different from relying on it.
Hyperindependence will be the death of me
We. I’ve never been part of a we. It just became my new favorite word in the English language. I’m in love with the sound. And the man saying it.
