Cute Highlight Quotes

You know," he said, "under normal circumstances, you inviting me to the bedroom would be the highlight of my day." I crossed my arms and sat on the bed. I did so out of simple fatigue, but a moment later, I was struck by what I was doing. This is where Adrian sleeps. I'm touching the covers he's wrapped in every night. What does he wear? Does he wear anything? I jumped up.

Tito snored away on the other bed. Out there, all around them to the last fringes of occupancy, were Toobfreex at play in the video universe, the tropic isle, the Long Branch Saloon, the Starship Enterprise, Hawaiian crime fantasies, cute kids in make-believe living rooms with invisible audiences to laugh at everything they did, baseball highlights, Vietnam footage, helicopter gunships and firefights, and midnight jokes, and talking celebrities, and a slave girl in a bottle, and Arnold the pig, and here was Doc, on the natch, caught in a low-level bummer he couldn’t find a way out of, about how the Psychedelic Sixties, this little parenthesis of light, might close after all, and all be lost, taken back into darkness…

Nora stared at the scene she’d just written. She highlighted it and was about to hit Delete when her hotline phone rang. “Mistress Nora’s House of Ill Repute. How may I direct your cock?” “You aren’t cute,” Kingsley said. “I beg to differ. I’m fucking precious.

Built around 1780... a two-hour train ride from Paris... the neighbor keeps his horses in my backyard... pies made with apples from my own trees..." I caught the highlights of Hugh's broadcast and understood that my first goal was to make him my boyfriend, to trick or blackmail him into making some sort of commitment. I know it sounds calculating, but if you're not cute, you might as well be clever.

Out there, all around them to the last fringes of occupancy, were Toobfreex at play in the video universe, the tropic isle, the Long Branch Saloon, the Starship Enterprise, Hawaiian crime fantasies, cute kids in make-believe living rooms with invisible audiences to laugh at everything they did, baseball highlights, Vietnam footage, helicopter gunships and firefights, and midnight jokes, and talking celebrities, and a slave girl in a bottle, and Arnold the pig, and here was Doc, on the natch, caught in a low-level bummer he couldn’t find a way out of, about how the Psychedelic Sixties, this little parenthesis of light, might close after all, and all be lost, taken back into darkness . . . how a certain hand might reach terribly out of darkness and reclaim the time, easy as taking a joint from a doper and stubbing it out for good.

Mr. Townsend quirks a brow at the other man, and when our boss walks away he sticks his tongue out to his back. I push my hair over my shoulder and look this man over a bit closer. His dark hair reaches his shoulders and falls in soft waves around his face. He has a strong jaw lined with stubble and high cheekbones under his impossibly dark eyes. His perfect teeth are framed beautifully with full lips and a dark goatee, which only highlight the voluptuous color of his mouth. He’s wearing a dark blue button up shirt that fits loosely around his arms and chest, but the fitted dark jeans show off the chiseled lines of his thighs. He pushes his chair back slightly and stands, extending his large hand toward me. “I’m Reid. Reid Townsend.” He’s tall, about 6’0”, with a smile right out of a toothpaste commercial, and when I take his hand (surely with a stupid look on my face) it’s rough from heavy use. “Nice to meet you. I’m Danielle Delaney,” I reply. “You can call me Dani… Or anything you’d like except DD, um, in high school some people called me Double D’s because of that name and because I have big boobs—” I cut off abruptly with a slightly choked sound, feeling the blood rush over my chest, face and ears. I’ve never blurted something like that before in my life, and I especially have never blurted anything because I’m standing in front of a beautiful guy—I’m the player, not the played.

The prevalence of straight white women serves to highlight an ugly truth: that the difference between cute, acceptable unruliness and unruliness that results in ire is often as simple as the color of a woman's skin, who she prefers to sleep with, and her proximity to traditional femininity.

Dressed in a crisp white polo shirt, which shows off the deep gold of his skin and stretches around the bulge of his biceps, and slouchy, gray slacks that highlight the narrowness of his hips and drape over his thick thighs, he leans against a red Ferrari, his hands tucked into his pockets. Move over Jake Ryan. When Gabriel smiles—a full one, complete with that cute dimple on his left cheek, the corners of his eyes crinkling in joy—I’m tempted to look around before mouthing, “Who me?

OMG Danita, it’s hopeless out here,” I moaned while we sat watching her son’s football game. I did not want to laugh, but he looked so cute struggling to run up the field bearing his weight in equipment. As he worked on his Heisman’s highlight reel, the cheerleaders, including his sister Nia, shook their pom-poms as if casting out demons.

like you,” she says, just slightly louder than a whisper. Looking back down, I try to focus on finishing her toes with precision. With a smirk, because I have to tease her a little after that, I say, “You’re alright.” “Let’s see if you feel like I’m just ‘alright’ when I’m riding your cock later.” “Jesus Christ.” My concentration falters, and I swipe the nail polish brush all along her pinky toe. “I’m sorry!” She lets out a small snort as she giggles, and her hand flies up to cover her mouth and nose. It’s really fucking cute. “You can’t say that kind of shit to me while I’m trying to concentrate.” She leans forward and whispers, “I think you’re pretty amazing, Grant Foxx.” I don’t know why it hits me the way that it does, but those few words mixed with what she said before feels like some kind of vindication. That I’ve earned the right to show parts of myself to someone again. It’s been a helluva week since we’ve started whatever this is, but it’s been the highlight, hands down. Just about everyone on my team at the cooperage had something they needed from me. It’s been exhausting and tedious. I’m trying to delegate more of my typical tasks with a full team now. And we’ve started new barrels for a blend that Lincoln wanted to do in a limited run with, which meant new toasting times. A week. Which is why today, with her, is like the reward. It's a lazy day. The kind with no plans that I would always try to avoid. Keeping busy had always helped the days move along and kept quiet moments from turning into spiraling feelings. But right now, I’m loving every second of today’s pace. It’s peaceful.

She hadn’t realized how hard this would be—parenting. People, for some reason, chose only to highlight the good parts: the cute chubby cheeks and cute little socks—not the temper tantrums and lollipop bribery it took to get them in the socks.

but the prevalence of straight white women serves to highlight an ugly truth: that the difference between cute, acceptable unruliness and unruliness that results in ire is often as simple as the color of a woman’s skin, whom she prefers to sleep with, and her proximity to traditional femininity.