I know the M-word makes you nervous, but yeah. I'm talking about the big, permanent friendship. A little different from what Joe and Charles had, though. See, I want to be the kind of best friends who make love every night, who share all their darkest secrets and favorite jokes, and maybe even someday make babies together. I know that kind of friendship requires hard work, but you know, I'm pretty good at hard work.
~ Tom Paoletti, "The Unsung Hero
Tags: romantic
And I was thinking with a part of my
anatomy that has nothing to do with my brain." Veronica had to laugh at that. "Oh, really?" "Yeah," Joe said. His smile grew softer, his eyes gentler. "My heart."
And then he kissed her.
What was love, anyway, but a mutated form of lust?
Suzanne BrockmannI was still a novice at the caped crusader super-sleuth thing, but it didn’t take a degree from the Sherlock Holmes Detective School to see exactly what had happened here. Alison had come home, put her lunch in the zapper, poured herself a beverage, turned on her computer and . . .
vanished off the face of the earth.
But he didn’t seem surprised to see her. ‘Hey.’
‘Hey, yourself.’ Okay, that was stupid. Her grandmother used to say Hey, yourself. Great, she was turning into her grandmother at the most inopportune time. She didn’t want to sound like a well-adjusted sixty-year-old.
I’m not a big drinker and I’ve had enough secondhand smoke for this decade and the next, so . . .”
Great. All she had to do was complain about the deafening volume of the music, and she might as well slap a sticker on her forehead saying old next to the one that already said nerd.
“Band’s good, though,” she added. “Country’s not my thing, but the players are . . . proficient.” And great, now she sounded like a professor. Proficient. God.
But he was nodding. “Country’s not my thing, either.”
“But you have a cowboy hat,” she said, and as soon as the words left her lips, she realized how stupid she sounded, no—not that she sounded, but that she was.
Um,' he said, because she was smiling at him and he was an idiot.
Suzanne BrockmannWhat if I told you that you were a hundred percent wrong?’
‘Wow,’ she said. ‘You are good. Talk about not being the bad guy in your own movie. 'You are a hundred percent wrong,’ she repeated, with a horrendous, over-the-top-Yankee-fied imitation of his barely-there drawl.
But she was quick to add, “I’m not saying I believe you’re related to Kid Gallagher—”
“For the love,” I said, “of God . . . ”
“Jamie,” A.J. interrupted her. “Not Kid. Jamie.
Jesus,” A.J. said, because he still hadn’t gotten used to Jamie popping in and out like that. He still couldn’t believe his eyes—if it truly were his eyes that needed to be believed, and not his brain that was responsible for sending him hallucinations of the old man he’d adored back when he was a child and life was so much less complicated.
And great, now Alison was looking at him as if he’d just shouted Jesus in the middle of her office, which he had, and there was nothing to do about it but plunge onward. “Yes, Jesus, yes,” he said, which sounded even more stupid than he’d thought it would.
« first previous
Page 5 of 11.
next last »
Data privacy
Imprint
Contact
Diese Website verwendet Cookies, um Ihnen die bestmögliche Funktionalität bieten zu können.