Yes, You Quotes

“Best Christmas ever,” Bob says as he pulls the covers over us both. He wraps around me, one hand cupping my sore boob and the other covering the baby we made, the new life we created, the promise that we are and will be more than we had ever hoped to become.”
― Tammy Falkner, Yes You

“When we’re both sated, he covers my belly with the flat of his hand. “I thought I was happy, with there being just the two of us,” he says. “But three is even better.” He looks into my eyes. “What do you think? Boy or girl?” “I have names already picked out for both,” I tell him. He laughs. “So I don’t get a say in any of it?” “Nope.” “So, what will the names be?” His fingers tickle across the baby bump that’s not even evident yet. “Reagan if it’s a girl. Lincoln if it’s a boy.” I stare at him and wait for his response. “Presidents?” “Give them something they have to live up to.” I say with a chuckle. “I’m named after Madison. My grandfather is Grant. “Okay.” “Okay?” Did he seriously just agree with me about something? “Okay,” he says again.”
― Tammy Falkner, Yes You

“I should have seen it. All the signs were there.” He flips me onto my back, yanking my pajama top over my head during my fall. I cross my arms over my naked breasts. He pulls them back, looking down at me. “Your body has been changing. I noticed. Your boobs are bigger. And your nipples are harder and more sensitive.” He blows across my nipple, and then takes it gently into his mouth. He talks in my ear. “And the other day, when I was taking you from behind, you complained about your boobs hurting, and I had to let you get on top. Do you remember?” His words are soft, and he keeps talking as he hooks his fingers in the hips of my pajama bottoms, pulling them down along with my panties. His hand covers my belly. “Our kid is in there,” he says. I look at his face, and I see that he’s blinking back emotion. “Are you scared?” “Scared I can’t take care of you both? Yes. Scared of you and me and our baby together? No. Never. I want a family with you. I always have. I just wasn’t planning on it happening so soon.” “It’s all my vagina’s fault.” I chuckle over the emotion that wants to slip from my body. “And my penis had something to do with it.” “Sneaky bastard,” I whisper.”
― Tammy Falkner, Yes You

“How was your day?” he asks between kisses. His cold hands slip beneath my shirt and I hiss and draw back, but he just laughs and presses harder against my skin. “Just wait a minute. You’re so warm and I’m so cold. Warm me up.” His hand rises to cup my breast, and I’m not wearing a bra since I’m already in my pajamas. “Mmm,” he hums. “That feels nice and soft.” He sweeps a thumb across my nipple. “Except right there. That feels kind of hard.” He flings my pajama top up and takes my nipple into his mouth. “Easy,” I say. “They’re a little tender.” He hums around my nipple, tugging it gently now. “It’s not that time of the month.” “No…” I wince. “I haven’t had one of those in a couple of months.” His head jerks up. “What?” “Umm…” “Oh, God, Madison,” he rushes to say. He runs a frustrated hand through his hair. “A couple of months?” “You’ve pretty much been inside me at least once a day for the past few months, you idiot.” I push back from him. “You should know this as well as I do!” “Hell, I just thought I was lucky!” he yells. “Well, you can forget about getting lucky ever again!” I yell back. Tears sting my eyes but I refuse to cry in front of him. I go to the bedroom and slam and lock the door. He pounds on the door. “Madison? I’m sorry. Can you let me in?” “Go away!” “I’m not going away! Let me in!” “What are you going to do? Huff and puff and blow the door down? I’d like to see you try!” “Madison, open the damn door.” “This isn’t my fault!” I cry. “It’s all because of that overactive penis of yours!” “My penis is not overactive,” he grumbles at me through the crack in the door. “And if my penis is overactive, then so is your vagina.” I fling the door open. “Don’t you dare refer to my vagina like that! The only time it’s active is when you’re in it, you asshole!” I slam the door shut again. I sniffle and I guess he hears me because his voice gets soft. “Sweetheart, are you crying?” “You’re talking shit about my vagina!” I yell back. He talks through the crack in the door. “Will you let me in if I promise not to talk about your vagina anymore?” I sink down with my back to the door and I catch a tear as it rolls down my cheek, swiping it away. “Madison?” he says, and I can tell he’s down on my level. “Please let me in.” “I was really happy,” I say quietly. “I can’t hear you.” “I was really happy!” I shout. “I heard you that time,” he calls out. “Why were you happy?” “Because all I could think was that we had made something special together. And I was so excited to tell you. But then you had to go and warm your fucking hands on my boobs. And they’re sore all the time, and you didn’t even know it.” The door cracks open and he sticks his hand in, then shoves it a little harder, his movements soft and slow but powerful. Finally he sits in front of me so that we’re knee to knee. “Madison…” “Don’t talk about my vagina,” I say over a sniffle. “I love your vagina, sweetheart. In fact, I’d like to say hello to it right now, but I doubt that’s on the table.” He brushes my hair back from my face. “You surprised me, that’s all.” His voice is soft and low, like he’s trying to soothe a wild beast.”
― Tammy Falkner, Yes You

“How was your day?” he asks between kisses. His cold hands slip beneath my shirt and I hiss and draw back, but he just laughs and presses harder against my skin. “Just wait a minute. You’re so warm and I’m so cold. Warm me up.”
― Tammy Falkner, Yes You

“The movie starts and he motions for me to sit down next to him. I don’t, though. I pat my lap so he’ll lay his head down, and then I thread my fingers into his hair. He tenses immediately. “What’s wrong?” I ask. “No one has ever done that before,” he says quietly. He rolls to face the TV so I can’t see his face. “I’m going to do it all the time,” I promise. And I mean it. I’m going to do it every time I’m with him. He deserves to have someone show him how wonderful he is. I can tell when he goes to sleep. He gets soft in my lap and his face gets heavy against my thigh. But I don’t stop rubbing. I keep touching him, because giving him comfort feels better than any kiss I have ever had.”
― Tammy Falkner, Yes You

“Don’t do that.” “Why not?” “Because I want to learn what’s in here—” He taps my temple with his finger. “—before I learn what’s in here.” He cups my center, holding tightly to my heat for a moment before he withdraws. My heart skips a beat and my belly clenches. “You want to go watch a movie?” he asks. “I think Phil got Lethal Weapon III at Blockbuster.” “Are you serious? I’ve been dying to see that.” I get to my feet. He holds out the shorts I didn’t put on earlier. “Put some clothes on. Please.” He holds his hands together like he’s praying. “My dick won’t be able to stand it if he finds out there’s nothing but a pair of panties between him and where he wants to go.” My belly flips like there are a thousand butterflies trying to get free. “Okay.” I take them from him. He clutches a hand to his heart. “Oh my God. She actually did something I asked her to do!”
― Tammy Falkner, Yes You

“Why did you stand me up?” I shrug. “My feelings were really hurt.” I look at what he’s wearing. “Why did you take off your tie?” His cheeks flush. “I only wore it because Phil said it would impress you.” “It did.” His face grows even redder. I lean toward him. “Are you blushing?” “Everything about you makes me blush, Madison,” he tells me softly. “We just met yesterday,” I whisper playfully. “And yet I already know I’m going to marry you,” he whispers back. “I know you will. You won’t be able to resist me.” I laugh and the corners of his lips tip up in a grin. “What do you want?” he asks. “You.” I stare hard at him, because I want him to know I’m serious. I know this is fresh and new, but it’s also special and I want to pursue it. He points to his chest. “Me?” “Yes, you.”
― Tammy Falkner, Yes You

“Can I come in?” I ask. “No.” My belly drops. “No?” He shakes his head. “No.” “Please.” He shakes his head again, but he’s looking a little chagrined. “You should go.” “I’m not leaving.” He shrugs. “Fine. Suit yourself.” He closes the door in my face. I stand there on the stoop, not sure what to do with myself. Dad left with Phil, and I don’t have another ride. I sit down on the top step. A gentle drizzle begins to fall. I pull my knees up to my chest and scoot back under the overhang, but it’s not enough. I’m getting soaked. The door opens. “Jesus Christ, Madison. Are you seriously going to sit there in the rain?” My teeth are starting to chatter. “Just until my dad gets back. Then I’ll get out of your hair.” “Get in here,” he snarls. “No, I’m fine right here.” “Is this what life with you is going to be like? You declining every time I make a suggestion and me having to force you into it?” He hooks an arm beneath my knees and one behind my shoulders and scoops me up. “Jesus, you’re a lot of trouble,”
― Tammy Falkner, Yes You

“Go talk to him.” “Really?” He nods. “Really.” He clears his throat. “I don’t think that boy has ever had anyone fight for him, Madison. If he’s what you want, fight for him.”
― Tammy Falkner, Yes You

“Madison!” Bob’s head jerks up and he steps back three paces from me, and all the warmth that was him is suddenly gone. “Dad!” I cry. My father steps between me and Bob. “What are you doing here?” “Skip called me.” Skip and I grew up together. The traitor. “Skip said some ex-convict was carrying you out of the bar over his shoulder.” He looks from Bob to me and back again. “Is that true?” “I can explain, sir,” Bob begins, but my dad shoots him a look. “Why do you look so familiar to me?” Dad asks him. “We met in the courtroom, sir.” “What’s your name?” “Bob Caster, sir.” Dad’s eyes narrow. “One of Phil’s boys?” “Yes, sir.” Bob scratches his nose like he’s suddenly uncomfortable. “Why are you with my daughter?” “We’re on a date, sir.” “One that ends with you throwing her over you shoulder?” “That’s actually how it starts, sir.” A chuckle bursts from my lips and I cover my mouth to keep it in. “Sorry,” I mutter. “Madison, get in the car.” Dad points to his fancy car, which is parked right behind the one I’m sitting on. “With all due respect, sir, I’d like to take her home.” “If you had any respect for my daughter, you wouldn’t have been all over her on the hood of a car in the middle of the street.” “It was just a kiss, Dad—” “It looked like more than that.” “It was,” Bob interjects. His eyes meet mine. “It was more than that.” “What was it?” I whisper, past the lump that’s suddenly clogging my throat. “More,” Bob says. “I don’t know how to explain it. But it was more.” “More than you deserve,” Dad snaps. “My daughter will not have a relationship with an ex-convict.” Bob takes a step back and stuffs his hands in his pockets. “I understand, sir,” he says. “Good night, Madison.” “Don’t go!” I cry. He rounds the front of his car and gets inside. He cranks it and waits for me to get my butt off it. “You deserve better than him, Madison,” Dad says. I get off the hood of the car and glare at him. “Dad!” “Get in the car, Madison!” he shouts. He points his finger in the direction he wants me to go. I stomp over to the car and get in, and my heart breaks when I see that Bob is already driving away. His eyes meet mine briefly in his mirror and I see a world of hurt inside him. “I’m not going to my apartment, Dad,” I tell him. “Yes, you are.” “No, I’m not.” Dad heaves a sigh. “What do you want, Madison?” “I want to get to know him, Dad. That’s all. I like him a lot.” “I could tell,” he grunts. “He’s not the one for you.”
― Tammy Falkner, Yes You

“What do you want?” He spreads my thighs so he can stand between them. “You.” “Me?” I squeak. He grabs my bottom and yanks me closer to him. “Yes. You.” “But I’m just a girl. And there are so many of them crawling after you that you can’t keep all the names straight.” Tears sting my eyes and I blink them back. He looks at me quizzically. “I hurt you,” he says softly. My nose is starting to run, so I sniffle. “No, you didn’t.” “I did. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t mean what I said.” Sniffle. “Then why did you say it?” “Because those assholes were asking questions about you and I didn’t want to tell them anything, so I downplayed it. I didn’t want them all sniffing around you. You’re too important.” “You just met me yesterday,” I remind him. “And you’re all I’ve thought about ever since.” “Really?” “Really,” he says. His lips hover over mine, so close that we’re sharing breaths, but he doesn’t kiss me. My blood thrums in my veins. “I can’t believe you stood me up. I showed up with flowers, wearing a tie, and driving a car I borrowed, just to impress you.” “I don’t need all that stuff. I just need you.” “Who am I?” he asks. His blue eyes look deeply into mine. “You’re everything,” I breathe.”
― Tammy Falkner, Yes You

“The song turns to a slow one, and Skip pulls me close to him. His hands encircle my waist and slip beneath my shirt to touch my naked skin. I pull his questing fingers out. Suddenly, Skip is gone, and he’s lying on the floor. I look up to find Bob staring down at me, his chest heaving. “What the fuck are you doing, Madison?” “Well, I was dancing.” “It looked more like he was trying to fuck you on the dance floor.” I snort. “I hate to be the one to tell you, Bob, but fucking is a bit different from that.” I tilt my head at him. “You want me to get you a book on the subject? Because it seems like you are woefully misguided.” “I don’t need a book,” he mutters. “Why are you here with him?” He jerks a thumb toward Skip, who is being helped up off the floor. Skip taps Bob on the shoulder, like he wants to repay the favor, and Bob turns his head just enough to growl at him through his clenched teeth. Skip’s face goes white and he backs up, holding up two hands. “No problem, buddy. Didn’t know you called dibs.” Skip turns and walks off the dance floor. “He didn’t call dibs!” I yell to Skip, but he doesn’t come back. “I did call dibs. I do call dibs. I will call dibs.” He grabs my hand and pulls me toward the exit. “I don’t accept your dibs!” I cry. I dig my heels in and he turns back to face me. Suddenly, he upends me over his shoulder, his arm clamped across the backs of my thighs. I beat on his back, but he pays me no mind. I bend close to him and bite the only thing I can get my teeth into, which just happens to be the tender skin just over his left butt cheek. “I like it rough, sweetheart,” he says. This time, I put some heat behind my teeth and really nail him. His butt flinches. “Rough enough for you, sweetheart?” I ask between bounces of my body.”
― Tammy Falkner, Yes You

“I get in the car and go to complex A, and look for room 23, and then I knock on the door. The door opens, but it’s not Madison. It’s someone else. I hold the flowers I brought for her in my hand and fidget. “Hi, is Madison here?” “Nope,” she says and she smacks her gum. “Nope?” I repeat like a total dumbass. “Nope.” She smacks her gum again. “Do you know where she is?” She shrugs. “She went dancing with one of the guys in her math class.” “But…we had a date.” She laughs. “Oh, you’re the one.” “The one what?” “The one she caught telling your friends she was just a girl and that her name didn’t matter because there were so damn many of them you couldn’t keep them all straight.” What the hell is she talking about? “She followed you after you dropped her off that day. She wanted to give you her phone number. But she heard you.” “And now she’s out on a date? With somebody else?” She nods and pops her gum again. “Yep.” “Do you know where?” “At the club on Main Street. I can’t remember the name of it.” I turn on my heel and stalk in that direction. I don’t know what bothers me more—that she’s dancing with some random guy or that she stood me up. But I do know what bothers me most. It’s that she heard my stupid comment. I have to explain it to her. And I have to be sure she’s not kissing some random guy. She’s supposed to be kissing me, damn it.”
― Tammy Falkner, Yes You

“I’ve never met one like this before,” I admit. “How long have you known her?” I shake my head. I feel like I’ve known her all my life, but I know I haven’t. “A few hours.” “What’s she like?” I close my eyes and take a deep breath. “She makes me feel happy inside.” He punches my shoulder. “Good. Don’t do anything stupid tonight.” “What would you classify as stupid?” Does that mean I shouldn’t be myself? “Don’t try to sleep with her.” I jerk my eyes to meet his. “Seriously?” “If you want to fuck her, fuck her. If you want to make her fall in love with you, don’t fuck her. It’s that simple.”
― Tammy Falkner, Yes You

“I open my car door and start to slide in, but I start to think that Bob might want my phone number in case something changes before Saturday. I jot it down really quickly on the back of a receipt and go to give it to him. I hear one of the men he’s with as I walk closer. “Who was that on your bike?” He laughs sharply. It’s not like the laughter I heard from him today at all. “Just a girl.” Just a girl? A girl I have a date with on Saturday, or my name would have been better. But apparently, I am just a girl. “She got a name?” one of them asks. “I never can remember their names,” he says. “Too many of them.” He laughs sharply again and lights a cigarette. “That one is no different from the rest. Just something to do.” My heart sinks all the way down to my toes. I crumple my phone number up and drop it to the ground. At least I won’t have to get dressed up on Saturday. Maybe I just dodged a bullet.”
― Tammy Falkner, Yes You

“For the past hour, I’ve been riding with my cheek pressed tightly against his back. It feels nice and safe and comfortable. “I didn’t want to come back,” he says to me from over his shoulder. He doesn’t look at me. Something tells me he would look everywhere but at me even if we were facing one another. “Then why did you?” I lean to the side so I can see his face. He has a fine dusting of hair on his jaw and I want to touch it to see if it’s bristly or soft. I force my hands into my lap. “I figured you’d be ready to ditch me.” His eyes meet mine and hold them. “I wasn’t,” I say softly. A grin tips the corners of his lips. “Good.” “I’m really excited about Saturday. How should I dress?” “I was hoping you might wear nothing.” I freeze. Mainly because I can’t take a deep breath. Air? What’s that? “I’m just kidding!” he rushes to say, and he raises his hands to cup my face, forcing me to look into his eyes. “I was only joking. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. What you have on now will work. We’re not going anywhere fancy.” “Okay.” I draw in a breath. “I’m in the A building in the complex. Room 23. Or should I just meet you somewhere?” “I’ll pick you up.” I can’t stop smiling. I probably look like the worst sort of ninny. “I’ll see you then.” He unstraps my helmet and I get off his bike. My legs are wobbly as I stand up, and he helps me straighten myself and get steady with a hand beneath my elbow. “I had a lot of fun today.” “I did too.” He looks almost like it hurts him to admit that. “I’ll see you Saturday,” I whisper to him.”
― Tammy Falkner, Yes You

“Thank you for bringing me out here. If I never see you again, I want to tell you that I had a really great time.” The thought of never seeing her again kills me. I take a deep breath. “What if I told you I want to see you again?” I hold that breath. She says nothing. “Guess not,” I mutter. She shoves my shoulder. “Shut up. I was thinking.” “If it requires that much thought, you’d better say no.” “No.” My heart falls. I should have seen that one coming. Rich girls don’t fall for guys like me. “I don’t want to say no,” she rushes on to say. She sits up and looks down at me. “Unless you want me to say no. Do you want me to say no?” I take her hand in mine. “I want you to say yes.” “What would we do?” she asks, her eyes narrowing. “It would be a date. I have no idea.” “Would…you…kiss me?” I cough into my fist. “Well, I hope so,” I croak. “What else would we do?” “Umm…dinner?” “Mmhmm.” “Umm…maybe a movie.” “Mmhmm.” “Maybe we could take a walk.” Girls like that shit, right? “Could we go on a picnic?” “If you want to.” “I want to. When?” I scratch my head. “When is good for you?” “I don’t have anything to do on Saturday night.” “Seriously?” She nods. Then she squints at me. “Are you just asking me to be nice?” A laugh bursts from my throat. “Sweetheart, nice is not a word that has ever been used to describe me.” “So, we’re going on a date on Saturday,” she sings out and claps her hands. “I’m so excited.” Her happiness is catching. Holy shit. I am in so much trouble. “I had better get you back home.” I’ve enjoyed my time with her and I’m really not ready to give her up yet. “Can we ride some more?” she asks, blinking those green eyes at me. I suddenly realize that I would give her just about anything she wanted. She suddenly leans over and kisses my cheek really quickly. “Thank you,” she says.”
― Tammy Falkner, Yes You

“There’s one thing I do know. This is not a girl you fuck. This is a girl you take home to meet your mother. I wish I had one.”
― Tammy Falkner, Yes You

“She grabs my arm and lifts it toward her face, studying my tattoo, running her fingers over it. “It’s not scratch and sniff, sweetheart.” “What is it?” I lean close to her and whisper, “It’s a tattoo.” She scoffs. “I know that. But what does it mean?” “I got that one when my grandmother died. I was sixteen.” She points at another one. “And this one.” “When I was emancipated by the state. It turned out no foster families wanted a sixteen-year-old with a bad attitude.” “You didn’t have any other family?” “No.” “What’s this one?” She points to the side of my neck, and her finger tickles the sensitive skin. I suddenly wish she would press her lips there. “When I got out of jail and got into college.” I rub my nose, suddenly feeling really uncomfortable. “How did you turn it all around?” A smile tugs at my lips. “I had this really great parole officer who took me under his wing. He made it all work out. I owe him a lot.” I’ll never pay him back everything I owe. “He’s the one who put me on the path I’m on.” “What path is that?” She watches me closely and I have all of her attention. And I love that feeling. This girl is intoxicating in the best sort of way. “Law. I want to help boys like me. I want to give boys who have nothing and no one on their sides a second chance. Or a third chance. Or any chance.”
― Tammy Falkner, Yes You

“She brushes a lock of hair back from her face and winces when she tugs through a snag. “Oh, my gosh. I must look like I’ve been tumbled in a dryer, right? Is it bad?” She starts to sweep through her hair and her hand sticks in another knot. “You wouldn’t happen to have a brush, would you? Crap,” she swears as she encounters a huge snarl. “Wait,” I say. “I’ll get it.” I start to work through the tangle with my fingers and she sits still while I work out every last one. When I’m done, her hair is silky and smooth and I am not ready to stop running my fingers through it, but I probably should. “Don’t stop,” she says quietly. “That feels really good.” She pulls her feet from the water. “Wait,” she says, and she adjusts so that she’s lying over my lap. “You don’t mind, do you?” Hell, at this point, I’d be sad if she made me stop. “It’s fine,” I tell her. She relaxes against me and says, “Talk to me, will you?” Her eyes close and I’m pretty sure if she got any more relaxed, she’d fall asleep. My insides settle in a way they never have before. Usually, I have a roiling, boiling sensation in my chest, like something is fighting to get out of me and I must work to contain it at all times. But now… Now I am at peace. My soul and my heart connect like tumblers lining up in a lock. Snap! It opens up. And it scares the hell out of me. I pull my hands from her hair, thinking that her proximity is the problem. But the tumblers don’t realign. They don’t lock her out. They let her in. They invite her in and offer her a fucking apple pie so she’ll sit and stay for a while. “Are you all right?” she asks. “Why wouldn’t I be?” “You stopped rubbing my hair.” I lift her off my lap and set her beside me. “All the tangles are out.” “Oh.” She sighs. “That’s good.” She suddenly looks uncomfortable and it kills me that I caused it. “Thank you for fixing my hair,” she says quietly.”
― Tammy Falkner, Yes You

“You should take your boots off. Stick your feet in the water.” “Why?” I don’t understand why she’s so excited to get her feet wet. She laughs. “Because it’s fun.” She taps my thigh. “Take them off.” I shake my head. She tilts her head at me like an inquisitive puppy. “Please,” she says. “Don’t make me sit here and feel funny being the only one with naked feet.” I groan and pull my foot up, then tug my boot off. Then I repeat it with the other one and set the boots on the dock behind me with my socks stuffed inside. “In the water,” she says with a fierce jab of her finger. I hesitantly stick my feet in, and she laughs at the wounded look on my face when I realize how cold it is. “Quit being such a baby,” she scolds with a laugh. I gently palm the side of her head and give it a playful push. “Did you seriously just call me a baby?” “That might have to be your nickname for the rest of our lives.”
― Tammy Falkner, Yes You

“I take a turn way too sharp and she squeals, wrapping her arms so tight around my middle that she grasps her hands together in front of my belly. I cover her hands with one of mine and she takes a breath behind me. It makes me feel like she trusts me…and I almost feel the need to warn her not to do that.”
― Tammy Falkner, Yes You

“You’re really beautiful,” I blurt out. I cringe when she stops, turns to face me and smiles at me. My belly clenches and my dick notices how much I like her. “Thank you,” she says as she sits down on the end of the dock. She tugs her shoes and socks from her feet and shoves her socks inside the shoes. Her bare toes peek up at me and she sighs as she dips them in the water. She leans back on her palms and tips her face up to the sky. “Thank you for bringing me here,” she says without even looking at me. She breathes in and out through her nose, slowly. “Did you enjoy the ride?” She smiles and nods. “I want to do it some more. Like, all the time. Every day. All day.” She giggles and I find myself grinning with her. With me? Or does she just mean riding? I am afraid to ask. “Why did you come with me?” I ask instead. She tips her face toward me. “Because you asked me.” She snorts and then giggles. “Even though you only did it because I chased you down in the quad. I nearly tackled you.” She winces. “Sorry about that.” “Best thing that’s happened to me all day,” I say. Shit. Did I say that out loud? I sit beside her on the dock. “Me too,” she says quietly.”
― Tammy Falkner, Yes You

“Hey, you,” a voice calls out. I turn to look, and find Bob Caster perched on a gleaming motorcycle with wide, shiny handlebars. I point to myself and ask, “Who? Me?” “Yes, you,” he says. He squints at me like he’s trying to look inside me. I cross my arms under my breasts to block his piercing gaze, and his eyes drop down to my boobs. He licks his lips ever so slowly, and then his eyes travel back up. Heat creeps up my cheeks, but I refuse to fidget on my feet. I stare straight at him. “You want to take a ride with me?” he asks. He revs the bike. I point a finger. “On that?” He grins that sideways grin again. “Well, I wasn’t offering my personal services.” He glances down at his button fly, and then he laughs. He runs a hand lovingly down the shiny chrome handlebar, his touch reverent and respectful. “Of course on this.” I point to the center of my chest and then at the bike. “You want to take me for a ride on that?” He stares at me. I finally let that feet fidget thing happen and want to kick myself. “Is it safe?” He shakes a cigarette out of a pack and takes his time lighting it. He inhales deeply and holds it for a moment. Then he blows it out and says, “I won’t let you get hurt.” I look at my car and then at him. He revs the engine again. “Where are we going?” “For a ride,” he says with a shrug. “When will we be back?” I step closer to him and his eyes light up a little. And I like it. “When we get done.” Be still my heart. He flicks his cigarette into the grass. “Are you coming or what?” “Okay,” I say. He looks surprised. “Yeah?” “Yes.” He takes the helmet off his head and holds it out to me. I pull my ponytail free and tug the helmet on. He reaches out to buckle the strap for me, his fingers gentle. “How old are you?” he asks, his voice strong but quiet. “Nineteen.” “Good.” He grins. He motions for me to climb on behind him and I do, my thighs spread around his hips. He lifts my feet and shows me where to put them. “Why is that good?” I ask close to his ear. He looks back over his shoulder. “Because I don’t want to go back to jail.” He doesn’t wait. He hits the gas and I shriek as we take off through the parking lot and onto the open road. He reaches back with one hand and puts my hand on his waist, and I automatically follow with the other. I hold on tightly to the man who just told me he doesn’t want to go back to jail, and I wonder what the heck I just got myself into.”
― Tammy Falkner, Yes You

“All my life, I have gotten everything I ever wanted. I have a mother and father who are incredibly successful. We live in a big house in upstate New York where my parents own a horse farm. I’m attending this prestigious college and I don’t have to worry about anything. To everyone looking on, I have it all. But no one knows how very lonely I am. No one knows that my parents work every minute of every day. No one knows that I’m having trouble fitting in at school. I work really hard to hide my need for more. More what? I have no idea. But I need more. I don’t know why I thought I’d find it by befriending Bob Caster. Bob Caster, the bad boy. Bob Caster, the dreamy man who makes me want to ask him a thousand questions and just sit back and listen to the answers. Bob Caster, who, although he is incredibly poor—you can tell by the quality of his clothes and shoes—probably has more than I do. He probably even has friends. Real ones. Not just the ones who want to be around me because I can buy the shots.”
― Tammy Falkner, Yes You

“Excuse me,” I call to his retreating back. I sound like I swallowed Kermit, so I clear my throat. “Excuse me,” I call again. I run to catch up with him and tug on his backpack. He looks back over his shoulder, but then he keeps right on walking. “Wait!” I say, trying to keep up. “Damn it, would you stop?” He stops very quickly and I slam into his back. He rocks forward and I grab onto his pack to stay upright, feeling like I have two left feet. I am usually more graceful than this. My mother would kill me if she saw me right now, making a public spectacle of myself in the quad. He turns, grabs me by the shoulders and steadies me, then he bends down to look into my eyes. His are bright blue and full of questions. “Are you all right?” he asks, his voice gruff. I’ve never heard him do more than grunt in class, so hearing him make a full sentence, albeit a short one, is startling. “I’m fine,” I gasp, a little winded from chasing him. “You’re really fast.” He grins. “Sweetheart, you haven’t seen fast.” My heart skips a beat. I am in such big trouble. I don’t know why I thought I could approach a man like this, but I did, and now I don’t know how to ask for what I want. “Cat got your tongue?” he asks. A grin tips one corner of his lips. He’s pretty enough to take my breath away. His blond hair flops across his forehead and he shakes his head to swing it back from his eyes. I open my mouth to speak, but only a squeak comes out. He looks around the quad, looking behind me like he’s trying to figure out where the hell I came from. When he sees that no one is chasing me, he takes my shoulders in his hands and gives me a gentle squeeze, bending so he can stare into my eyes. “Hey,” he says softly, like I’m a stray dog he’s trying to trap. “Are you okay?” I thrust out my hand. “Madison Wentworth,” I say. “I just wanted to introduce myself.” His eyes narrow and he stares at me, but he doesn’t stick his hand out to shake mine. I let mine hang there in the air between us until it becomes so heavy with disappointment that I have to tuck it into the pocket of my jeans. “Guess not.” I sigh. “I’m very sorry for taking up your time.” “Which one of those fuckers put you up to this?” he asks. He grinds his teeth as he waits for my response. “What?” “Those frat boys you hang out with, the ones with more money than sense. Which one put you up to this?” He glares at me. “No one put me up to this,” I say. “Listen, sweetheart,” he says, his face very close to mine. I can smell the cigarette he just smoked and the coffee he must have had before it. “You don’t want to mess with a man like me.” “Okay,” I whisper. I clear my throat. “Fine. Have a nice day.”
― Tammy Falkner, Yes You