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When did I say that? I’m a romance reader. I have a thing for assholes.
“Regardless of your apartment décor, life isn’t always black and white, Ryan.” “It is when it comes to love. Either you want each other, or you don’t. Six years and a lifetime of memories is more than enough time to figure it out. He was stalling. You need to move on.”
Unfaithfulness puts you in another category in my book. You’re automatically unredeemable.
“Because I’ve learned over the years that sometimes people, especially men, are more intimidated than impressed by intelligence.
“You can’t stop being who you are because someone else thinks it’s too much, Ind. He can go find less.”
“What’s so funny?” “All this time I thought you didn’t believe in love.” “I believe in love, but I’m a realist. You could love someone with your entire being, but it doesn’t guarantee they’ll love you in return. It’s a gamble, and I don’t like to make bets I might lose.”
Loving someone doesn’t ensure that sentiment is reciprocated, but even though I’ve tried and failed, I hope one day I find it again.
“Sometimes the quietest love is the loudest,”
“Read with me?” “God.” My head falls back. “Talk dirty to me, why don’t you.”
“Why do you like reading fiction so much?” he asks without a hint of judgment. “How else would you get to live a thousand lives in the span of only one? The beauty of fiction is that it makes you feel things on a visceral level. You can cry with those characters, laugh with them. It teaches you to look at another’s perspective, to have empathy. In nonfiction, you simply learn about something instead of feeling it.”
