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Maybe I need a more effective shield than sarcasm. I definitely need coffee as fuel,
The door is just a few feet and a half-dozen hipsters away.
Why is my brain shooting out these stupid comparisons? It’s like I have a third option in the fight-or-flight response: generate stupid metaphors.
This is Texas! Shouldn’t someone have pulled out a concealed handgun by now or something?
I’ve found out the hard way that people’s rage increases in proportion to the number of words that come out of my mouth.
Probably because the more words that come out of my mouth, the more likely I am to stick my foot in it.
Oh, hey! There’s my old friend panic again. Yes, I did miss you. Thanks so much for coming back just in time to do NOTHING FOR ME.
I swear, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think that Sam is like the human version of Wiley Coyote. Any minute a piano or anvil is going to fall on her head.
you have to control the narrative.
Delilah leans her head on my shoulder. “We love you, Sam. And if anyone tries to mess with you again, we’ll bless their little hearts.” A Southern threat at its finest. I can’t help but smile.
I’d held out a slim hope—because I’ll always choose hope—that
there’s a transformation that happens to a wedding dress when the bride starts walking down the aisle, just like there’s a transformation to the bride.
Is wedding magic a thing? I believe it.
Sam seems to unlock some other personality inside me, one that I hardly recognize as mine. I’ve got all the gruffness of a dwarf mixed with the bad temper of a dragon. And all the spite of an insulted elf. A winning combination, for sure.
I almost say, it’s a date, and realize the fatal error just in time. Before I can congratulate myself on my self-control, I do something worse. I aim finger guns at him and wink. “See ya then, cowboy.”
The next morning—if you can call four thirty in the morning morning, and to be clear, I do NOT—I wake in a full-on rage. Can you blame me? Four. Thirty. A.M. This is a circle of hell, not a time.
Also, no one can judge me if I slurped some from the top of the dresser. It seemed like a better option than wringing out one of the hand towels into my mouth. That would be just plain gross.
But Rhys’s neck is far from normal. It’s not like I’m a neck girl. (Is that even a thing?) Rhys is like some kind of weirdly perfect specimen of a man—on the outside, anyway. The inside is clearly a dark cave of mystery.
The number one rule morning people need to know is that you don’t ever accuse someone of NOT being a morning person. Even if it’s true. This is, like, more important of a rule than the rules of Fight Club.
Basically, I already know where this morning is headed, and it’s nowhere good. At least I’m wearing a bra in case I need to make a quick exit.
I have the tiny shriveled heart of a raisin, soaked in sarcasm.”
The lines between us keep blurring and slipping. Mostly, I’m the one drawing and redrawing them. Sam is an open book.
“Ah-ha!” Sam plucks a notebook from underneath another stack. It’s turquoise and has llamas all over it. “You were hiding, but I found you! And now you’re coming with me.”
“Agreed. But it’s okay to stand up for yourself. You stand up for other people all the time. You didn’t say anything when Matt basically lied and left out that he cheated. Now, you’re doing the same thing with Get Up Austin.”
You know what? I joked with him about it, but the man would make an excellent Mr. Darcy.
was concerned romance would take over, but it’s really just made the story even better.
anything physical has stayed on the side of plausible deniability.
let my fingers trail over his abs, just to make sure they’re all still there. I’ve heard some new moms do this with their babies’ fingers and toes, so it’s totally fine for me to count his abs. Right?
“Rhys looked scared. When I shook his hand, he used Morse code to tap Help Me on my palm,” another anonymous student claimed. Since the event, a new website called Free Rhys appeared and more than 5,000 people have signed a petition to have authorities do a welfare check on Jackson.
in a kiss that feels like the beginning of forever.
“This is Vegas, baby. We can do anything.”
He feels like my forever.
There isn’t one story. They’re all different. And what Rhys and I have is our story.
It feels so good to not be the odd person out anymore. To have a man standing beside me that I know will be here through thick and thin, a man I can trust. One whom my friends have already folded into our circle.
in a sweet tea voice.
