Drop Dead Gorgeous Quotes

In person, if possible, Anubis was even more drop-dead gorgeous. [Oh . . . ha, ha. I didn't catch the pun, but thank you, Carter. God of the dead, drop-dead gorgeous. Yes, hilarious. Now, may I continue?]

Is it time for your period, or something?" With unerring instinct, he'd found a great big red button, and pushed it. Wyatt fights to win, which means he fights dirty. I understand the concept because that's how I fight, too, but understanding it didn't stop me from reacting. I could practically feel my blood bubbling with steam. "What?" He turned around, all controlled aggression, and damned if he didn't push the button again. "What is it about having a period that makes women so bitchy?" ... It was an effort, but I said as sweetly as possible, "It isn't that we're bitchier, it's that having a period makes us feel all tired and achy, so we have less tolerance for all the bullshit we normally SUFFER IN SILENCE." By the time the sentence ended the sweetness was long gone, my jaw was clenched, and I think my eyes were bugging out. Wyatt took a step back, belatedly looking alarmed.

He’s drop dead gorgeous and more popular than the Bieber. Well, at least before Beebs went off the rails and abandoned his poor monkey in a foreign country. We settle on the bed

A village somewhere was missing it's idiot.

I lost something recently," he tells me. My heart swells at the familiar voice, and I spin around to drop-dead-gorgeous cheekbones, a ruby-red visor, and lips that pull into a breathtaking smile. "Found her," he says.

…you know how hard it is to be utterly, drop dead gorgeous," she said, twirling that shiny instrument of torture she liked to call her hair.

Time to get a go on this drop-dead-gorgeous morning.

I'll show you how great we are going to be. Because you're the most beautiful girl I've ever met, and I'm not talking about your gorgeous face, your stunning hair or your drop-dead sexy body. I never knew it was possible to be so attracted to your best friend.

Guilt doesn't follow the rules of time. Most things fade with time, regret, eyesight, memories. But guilt feeds on time, and as it feeds, it grows, and when it runs out of time, it begins to gnaw on the guilty.

Why is he so attractive? It’s not right. Money, abs, a big dick, and drop-dead gorgeous? If I needed any more proof that life is definitely unfair, it’s standing right in front of me. Even his laugh is perfect.

Drop-dead freshly fucked gorgeous.

Besides, he was....Kade, a drop-dead (sometimes literally) gorgeous man who had danger and sex oozing from his pores.

Julita was being spinned like a top by a drop-dead-gorgeous Dominicano. Later she told us that he’d asked for her number and she had given him the wrong one. “Why did you do that?” I asked her. “He smelled married,” she said.

Fate wouldn't create a man that drop-dead gorgeous and make him gay, would it? Oh yes, fate would.

Because Rowdy Yates was that and then some. He was also drop-dead gorgeous in a devilish, careless, edgy way. Where Reese tempered his sex appeal, Rowdy threw it out there without reserve, bludgeoning innocent bystanders with his raw magnetism.

Remember that when he’s slaughtering you. It’s important that the guy strangling the life out of you is drop-dead gorgeous.

Instead of being regarded as intelligent or knowledgeable, many a woman would rather be regarded as beautiful or good in the kitchen; many a man, as handsome or good in bed.

Love by itself isn't enough; it's never enough. There had to be other things, such as liking and respect, or love would get worn away by the realities of everyday life.

And for the love of fuck, do not bury me in a bra. The last thing I want to do is spend all my haunting years digging at my underwire.

His hair was a lighter shade of brown than Jared’s, and his eyes were a deep blue, while Jared’s were a haunting gray. They both had similar angular jaws and drop-dead-gorgeous looks.

Just how many pairs of black shoes do you need?” he finally asked, staring at them lined up on the floor. Okay, shoes aren’t a laughing matter. I gave him a cool stare. “One pair more than I have.” “Then why didn’t you get them?” “Because I would still need one pair more than I have.

What's your name?” When she said nothing, he sighed. “You'll find that cooperating will go a long way with me.” “Fine,” she bit out. “It's Sela.” "See? That didn't hurt, did it?” He pushed to his feet, giving her the opportunity she needed. Rolling, she swung her legs out, caught him in the knees...and he went down like a log. Granted, he was up again in a heartbeat, snarling with fury, but still, it felt good to give him a good whack. “You can't help it, can you?” he snapped. “You keep doing stupid things.” “You keep pissing me off!” He blinked. And then he laughed, and good Lord, the man was drop-dead, fucking gorgeous when he did that. -Logan and Sela

drop-dead gorgeous.

Chase hopped back onto the ice for another shift. Our gazes collided, and an electric jolt ran through my body. Goose bumps popped up on my arms beneath my black puffy down parka. He flashed me a drop-dead gorgeous cocky smile and winked before skating off to the other end.

When we’re married and he looks at me sitting beside him at the table, he should feel as if he’s fought a great battle and accomplished something—namely, winning me. He’ll treasure me more. I like being treasured.

My mom tries to comfort me by saying that girls like Heather Campbell tend to peak early in life and then quickly fade. That's why she looks so much better than everyone now. But by the time I go to my ten-year reunion, I'll be way prettier than she is. To which I always reply with the same statement, "I don't want to be pretty in ten years. I want to be pretty now." Because what good is it to me now that I might or might not be drop-dead gorgeous when I'm twenty-seven? It's not like I can go to school every day with a big cardboard sign around my neck that says, "Trust me, in ten years, I'll look like this." And then an arrow pointing to a picture of a supermodel.

By the time we reached the front door of the party house—a total mansion, like Harrison had said—Nathan was far behind us. Well, he’d promised to stay out of our hair. “Wow,” I heard Bailey gasp as the front door swung open for us, though I wasn’t sure if that was her reaction to the freakishly large house or to the drop-dead-gorgeous guy standing in front of us. “Good evening, ladies,” he said, stepping aside to let us enter. Automatically, I found myself standing up taller and sliding my shoulder blades back for optimum cleavage exposure. It was like a flirting reflex. I just wished I wasn’t all sunburned. “Hello to you.” He grinned at me. A cocky, sexy grin. “I don’t believe we’ve met,” he said. He glanced at Bailey then. “Any of us. I’m sure I’d remember those pretty faces.” I swear, Bailey was blushing so hard I could feel the heat radiating from her body. “Oh, you’d remember,” I agreed, tossing back my hair and putting a hand on my hip. “I’m Whi—” “Whitley!” I jumped and spun around involuntarily. Harrison was standing beside me, looking thoroughly delighted. “Hello again, darling. You look gorgeous—and the lack of flip-flops is making my day. Those slingbacks are perfect!” I nodded, glancing over my shoulder at the hot guy, but he’d already moved on and was chatting with a group of kids a few feet away. Goddamn it. “Wesley is just so busy,” Harrison said, following my gaze. “You have to give him credit for being a great host. He talks to everyone. Seems like way too much work to me.

At first, all that registers is that this girl is drop-dead gorgeous. Dark hair, dark eyes, and full lips curved in a smirk that should probably be annoying but isn’t. She’s wearing a bright-red sundress and sandals, with sunglasses holding back her hair and a large, man-sized watch on one wrist, and—oh.

The Kraken?” Forge’s entire body shakes as booming laughter tumbles from his lips. But I’m not looking at his lips. I’m still watching his dick as it bobs when he laughs. It’s also getting bigger. “Are you going to look at my face or just stare at my dick?” “I’ve seen your face before,” I tell him, not looking up. I got caught staring; I might as well make the most of it. When a navy towel with a silver monogram suddenly covers the object of my attention, I’m forced to glance up . . . at the most beautiful grin that has ever crossed a man’s face. Why is he so attractive? It’s not right. Money, abs, a big dick, and drop-dead gorgeous? If I needed any more proof that life is definitely unfair, it’s standing right in front of me. Even his laugh is perfect. Stop, Indy. Get down to business. He hacked your phone. “Stop laughing. This isn’t swim time.

I’m Emily. I’m a drop-dead gorgeous exotic free spirit with long beautiful hair who eats doughnuts and still manages to have a six-pack,

Fate wouldn’t create a man that drop-dead gorgeous and make him gay, would it? Oh, yes, fate would.

Certain times called for presentable clothes, and certain times called for drop-dead gorgeous attire.

Have faith in the future and accept your fate.

I’ve been compared to Snow White once or twice, but people tend to run for the hills as soon as I open my mouth.

No shit, Sherlock.

but holy hell this man is drop-dead gorgeous.

Man, she really is pretty. Not drop-dead gorgeous or anything, but she has a fresh-faced, girl-next-door look that’s seriously appealing.

People who have problems with me . . . they’re the problems. It’s not me, it never was me.

I work in insurance, not the law. And our standard is a lot more . . . asshole-ish might be the best word.

remember advice I heard once, from where I don’t know, that said ‘don’t let them take you to a secondary location’.

You call it Spidey senses, I call it intuitive intelligence. Long story short, if your gut says something’s up, it is.

If I’m going to get judged for it, I might as well do it, right?

Okay, Matty could admit it. There was a chance he’d said yes to a serial killer, just because he was drop-dead-fucking-gorgeous.

Jason is one of those people who is like a Slinky; you always smile when you think of watching him fall down the stairs.

That hedge provides almost complete privacy from cars and pedestrians, and I would bet he and his wife do it more than the national average.

I focus on my favorite daydream, the one where I return from London at the end of the summer and am all glamorous and drop-dead gorgeous and every girl in my school is completely jealous when Quinn McKeyan asks me to Fall Homecoming because he can’t resist my charm. Hey, it’s my daydream. I can dream what I want to. The thing is, Quinn’s face keeps getting replaced in my head by Dante’s. Since I’ve had a mad crush on Quinn from the time we started kindergarten all the way through our junior year last year, that’s saying something. Every daydream I’ve had for eleven years has been of him. I’m a very loyal daydreamer. And I suddenly feel like I’m cheating on my imaginary boyfriend, a boy who happens to be real, but who has been dating my best friend Becca for the past two years. And no. Becca has no idea that I’m secretly in love with her boyfriend. It’s the one secret that I’ve kept from her.

When he can't take anymore, Galen plucks his phone from his pocket and dials, then hangs up. When the call is returned, he says, "Hey, sweet lips." The females at the table hush each other to get a better listen. A few of them whip their heads toward Emma to see if she's on the other end of the conversation. Satisfied she's not, they lean closer. Rachel snorts. "If only you liked sweets." "I can't wait to see you tonight. Wear that pink shirt I like." Rachel laughs. "Sounds like you're in what we humans like to call a pickle. My poor, drop-dead-gorgeous sweet pea. Emma still not talking to you, leaving you alone with all those hormonal girls?" "Eight-thirty? That's so far away. Can't I meet you sooner?" One of the females actually gets up and takes her tray and her attitude to another table. Galen tries not to get too excited. "Do you need to be checked out of school, son? Are you feeling ill?" Galen tosses a glance at Emma, who's picking a pepperoni off her pizza and eyeing it as if it were dolphin dung. "I can't skip school to meet you again, boo. But I'll be thinking about you. No one but you." A few more females get up and stalk their trays to the trash. The cheerleader in front of him rolls her eyes and starts a conversation with the chubby brunette beside her-the same chubby brunette she pushed into a locker to get to him two hours ago. "Be still my heart," Rachel drawls. "But seriously, I can't read your signals. I don't know what you're asking me to do." "Right now, nothing. But I might change my mind about skipping. I really miss you." Rachel clears her throat. "All right, sweet pea. You just let your mama know, and she'll come get her wittle boy from school, okay?" Galen hangs up. Why is Emma laughing again? Mark can't be that funny. The girl beside him clues him in: "Mark Baker. All the girls love him. But not as much as they love you. Except maybe Emma, I guess." "Speaking of all these girls, how did they get my phone number?" She giggles. "It's written on the wall in the girls' bathroom. One hundred hall." She holds her cell phone up to his face. An image of his number scrawled onto a stall door lights up the screen. In Emma's handwriting.

Once he had put the phone down Lennie felt restless. His wife was the most exciting woman in the world, but – damn it – she pissed him off. Why couldn’t she say – Lennie, if things are tough, I’ll be right there? Why couldn’t she forget everything else and be with him? Lucky Santangelo. Drop-dead gorgeous. Strong. Determined. Enormously rich. And too independent. Lucky Santangelo. His wife.

Kit spoke vintage vinyl in all its dialects. And he casually rubbed elbows with stars from all walks of life. Oh, and he was twenty. And drop-dead gorgeous. Kit Hemion was a very big way Aaron's Records made money with the West Side set.

There’s something else I’m curious about, Kelsey.” I smiled at him. “Sure, what else do you want to know?” “What exactly is going on between you and Ren?” A vise clamped down on my chest, but I tried to play it cool. “What do you mean?” “I mean, are you two more than just traveling companions? Are you together?” I clipped off a fast, “No. Definitely not.” He grinned. “Good!” He grabbed my hand and kissed it. “Then that means you’re free to go out with me. No girl in her right mind would want to be with Ren, anyway. He’s very…stuffy. Cold, as far as relationships go.” My mouth hung open for a minute, shocked, and then I felt anger shove the shock aside and take over. “First of all, I am not going to be with either one of you. Second, a girl would have to be crazy not to want Ren. You’re wrong about him. He’s not stuffy or cold. In fact, he’s considerate, warm, drop-dead gorgeous, dependable, loyal, sweet, and charming.” He raised an eyebrow and measure me thoughtfuly for a minute. I squirmed under his gaze, knowing that I had spoken too quickly and said way too much. He ventured carefully. “I see. You may be right. The Dhiren I know has surely changed in the past couple of hundred years. However, despite that and your insistent claim that you will not be with either one of us, I would like to propose that we go out and celebrate tonight, if not as my..what is the correct word?” “The word is date.” “Date. If not as my date…then, as my friend.” I grimaced. Kishan continued, pressing his point, “Surely, you won’t leave me to fend for myself on my first night back in the real world?” He smiled at me, encouraging my acceptance. I did want to be his friend, but I wasn’t sure what to say to his request. And for just a moment, I wondered how Ren would feel about it and what the consequences might be. I questioned, “Where exactly do you want to go to celebrate?” “Mr. Kadam said there’s a nightclub in town nearby with dinner and dancing. I thought we could celebrate there, maybe get something to eat, and you can teach me how to dance.” I laughed nervously. “This is my first time in India, and I don’t know a thing about dancing or the music here.” Kisham seemed even more delighted by that news. “Fantastic! Then we will learn together. I won’t take no for an answer.” He jumped up to rush off. I yelled, “Wait, Kishan! I don’t even know what to wear!” He shouted back over his shoulder, “Ask Kadam. He knows everything!

Now, the last one was that the demon king can’t stand either in heaven or on the earth. Urga set the demon on his lap, which means I guess I’ll have to…sit on your back.” Awkward. Even though Ren was a big tiger and it would be like riding a small pony, I was still conscious that he was a man, and I didn’t feel right about turning him into a pack animal. I took off my backpack and set it down wondering what I could do to make this a bit less embarrassing. Mustering the courage to sit on his back, I’d just decided that it wouldn’t be too bad if I sat sidesaddle, when my feet flew out from under me. Ren had changed into a man and swept me up into his arms. I wiggled for a minute, protesting, but he just gave me a look-the don’t-even-bother-coming-up-with-an-argument look. I shut my mouth. He leaned over to pick up the backpack, let it dangle from his fingers, and then said, “What’s next?” “I don’t know. That’s all that Mr. Kadam told me.” He shifted me in his arms, walked over to stand in the doorway again, then peered up at the statue. He murmured, “I don’t see any changes.” He held me securely while looking at the statue and, I have to admit, I totally stopped caring about what we were doing. The scratches on my arm that had been throbbing a moment ago didn’t bother me at all. I let myself enjoy the feeling of being cuddled up close to his muscular chest. What girl didn’t want to be swept up in the arms of a drop-dead gorgeous man? I allowed my gaze to drift up to his beautiful face. The thought occurred to me that if I were to carve a stone god, I’d pick Ren as my subject. This Urga half-lion and half-man guy had nothing on Ren. Eventually, he realized I was watching him, and said, “Hello? Kells? Breaking a curse here, remember?” I just smiled back stupidly. He quirked an eyebrow at me. “What were you thinking about just now?” “Nothing important.” He grinned. “May I remind you that you are in prime tickling position, and there’s no escape. Tell me.” Gads. His smile was brilliant, even in the fog. I laughed nervously. “If you tickle me, I’ll protest and struggle violently, which will cause you to drop me and ruin everything that we are trying to accomplish.” He grunted, leaned close to my ear, and then whispered, “That sounds like an interesting challenge, rajkumari. Perhaps we shall experiment with it later. And just for the record, Kelsey, I wouldn’t drop you.” The way he said my name made goose bumps rise all over my arms. When I looked down to quickly rub them, I noticed the flashlight had been turned off. I switched it on, but the statue remained the same. Giving up, I suggested, “Nothing’s happening. Maybe we need to wait till dawn.” He laughed throatily while nuzzling my ear and declared softly, “I’d say that something is happening, but not the something that will open the doorway.” He trailed soft, slow kisses from my ear down my neck. I sighed faintly and arched my neck to give him better access. With a last kiss, he groaned and reluctantly raised his head. Disappointed that he’d stopped, I asked, “What does rajkumari mean?” He laughed quietly, carefully set me down, and said, “It means princess.

Hey, I know you don’t know me but I’m falling for you and I want you to leave your drop-dead gorgeous model slash angel girlfriend and be with me. Oh and by the way, I’m the product of the most evil and horrendous crime a man can ever commit. So… you wanna grab a bite?

I twirled in front of the mirror slowly, wanting to see the full effect of my new dress front and back. It was a daring little thing made of black silk, its front held by thin strings tied behind my neck and completely backless.  I did another twirl, asking out loud, “Do you think this looks good on me?” I wanted my friends’ opinions before they left to have dinner with their families and I had to leave for my second date with my week-old boyfriend. “Everything looks good on you,” Alyx said, rolling her eyes. She was on the armchair in the corner, one leg tossed carelessly over the side. Slender with boyishly cut hair, she could always be counted on to say the truth, no matter how harsh it was. Even so, I still felt insecure. I always was when it came to the boy I loved. Glancing at the other girl who made up our close-knit trio, I asked Yanna, “What do you think?” “It’s what I always think,” Yanna said simply. Petite and curvy, she was lying on her stomach on the floor, flipping through the latest issue of Teen Vogue. Seeing that I was waiting for an explanation, she laughed and elaborated obediently, “You look drop dead gorgeous.”  The words should have comforted me, but it didn’t. I knew Yanna meant what she said, and not just because she happened to be the nicest and most polite person I knew. She was also hopeless when it came to lying, and that was probably why I felt worse now. Doubt had shadowed her gaze as she uttered the compliment, and the sight made it harder for me to stay deaf to the warning inside my head.

I’m not freaking out. I’m turned on. I’m thinking about sniffing your bed pillows like a weirdo, contemplating if it’d be better for you to bend me over the island or the couch, and my ovaries are basically exploding—pew, pew, pew—like fireworks because you’re so good with Chunky that I can imagine you as the one of those dads who’d play tea party with your daughter. And all of that is making me hot and nervous . . . and . . . and . . . I should stop talking now.

Your size and your shape are bonnie, and you don’t need to trip over your words in front of a guy you fancy because you should never doubt how beautiful you are.” He swallows a seemingly uncomfortable lump in his throat, and adds, “But even if I can’t cure you of this warped view you have about your body, you need to remember you’re funny, and smart, and talented, with loads of other qualities that make the fact that you’re drop-dead gorgeous a really nice perk. Any man would be lucky to talk to you.

What it means: The world focuses on what people look like on the outside. God focuses on what people look like on the inside. Do you put more time and effort into being pretty on the outside or the inside? As you get older, you will meet Christian girls who spend more time trying to find the perfect outfit, get the perfect tan, find the perfect lip gloss, and have the perfect body. While there's nothing wrong with wanting to look pretty, we need to make sure it's in balance. God would rather see us work on becoming drop-dead gorgeous on the inside. You know, the kind of girl who talks to Him on a regular basis (prayer) and reads her Bible.

To the Unknown Lover Horrifying, the very thought of you whoever you are, future knife to my scar, stay where you are. Be handsome, beautiful, drop-dead gorgeous, keep away. Read my lips. No way. OK? This old heart of mine’s an empty purse. These ears are closed. Don't phone, want dinner, make things worse. Your little quirks? Your wee endearing ways? What makes you you, all that? Stuff it, mount it, hang it on the wall, sell tickets, I won't come. Get back. Get lost. Get real. Get a life. Keep schtum. And just, you must, remember this — there'll be no kiss, no clinch, no smoochy dance, no true romance. You are Anonymous. You're Who? Here's not looking, kid, at you. Carol Ann Duffy, Love Poems (Picador USA, February 1st 2010)

People who have problems with me . . . they’re the problems. It’s not me, it never was me. I move the most recent piece of paper that’s driving me crazy around a few more times, turning it clockwise over and over, even flipping it to the other side. It’s solid white, after all. There could be any number of places it’d go in this invoice puzzle. There! I get it slipped into place and pick up another one. I’m so close I can smell it! Victory, not trash. Still don’t smell that. Turn, turn, turn, flip, turn, turn. I pull on my magnifying glasses to look at the edge a little closer. On a few pieces, I’ve been able to tell which side is the front by the tear. Hmm, it looks like it goes this way. Here? No. Here? No. Grr. I’m making such good progress, but it’s not coming together. With the magnification glasses on, I lean down close to scan the pieces I have left to get into place and one catches my eye. I pick it up and examine it closely under the light, reading the text printed there. This

I turned my focus to clothes, immediately endeavoring to find just the right dress for the occasion. This was huge--my debut as the girlfriend of Marlboro Man--and I shopped with that in mind. Should I go for a sleek, sexy suit? That might seem too confident and brazen. A floral silk skirt? Too obvious for a wedding. A little black dress? Too conservative and safe. The options pummeled my brain as I browsed the choices on the racks. I tried on dress after dress, suit after suit, outfit after outfit, my frustration growing more acute with each zip of the zipper. I wanted to be a man. Men don’t agonize over what to wear to a wedding. They don’t spend seven hours trying on clothes. They don’t think of wardrobe choices as life-or-death decisions. That’s when I found it: a drop-dead gorgeous fitted suit the exact color of a stick of butter. It was snug, with just a slight hint of sexy, but the lovely, pure color made up for it. The fabric was a lightweight wool, but since the wedding would be at night, I knew it would be just fine. I loved the suit--not only would I feel pretty for Marlboro Man, but I’d also appear moderately, but not overly, confident to all his cousins, and appropriate and proper to his elderly grandmothers.

He was drop-dead gorgeous and I, well I was just ... dead." (Tera Hightower, Dead Chick Walking)

Excuse me. I know this is going to sound strange, but if I don’t ask you now, I’ll be kicking myself for the rest of the day. I’m running to meet a friend [i.e., I have friends and am not a stalker], but I think you’re really [extremely, drop-dead] cute [gorgeous, hot]. Could I have your phone number? I’m not a psycho—I promise. You can give me a fake one if you’re not interested.

or spit it in.

I’ll just have fries and a Coke,” Amber said. “Is Pepsi okay?” the waitress asked. “Sure.” Does anyone ever say no to that question?

Fuck off,” I pant, the most I can manage considering the lack of oxygen my body’s feeling right now. “Don’t talk to me in that tone of gasp,” Trey growls mockingly.

I looked at her, balancing on the balls of her feet off a concrete parking lot divider. She had no makeup on. Sweats. Hair in fucking curlers. Hell, she didn’t even change out of the shirt with the enormous lasagna stain on the front before we left the house. And she was a thousand times better than the drop-dead gorgeous yoga instructor from a few hours earlier. Fun. Witty. Smart. Beautiful. The cool girl. And nothing that I could have.

I thought you were offended.” My eyes widen. “Why would I be offended?” Having two drop-dead gorgeous men trying to sleep with me is actually doing wonders for my ego.

If you look at anybody who's been marketed, it's been somebody who has been drop-dead hot and gorgeous,' Milbrett said. 'For men, you just have to be good. It doesn't matter what the hell you look like. For women, you have to be good and you have to be gorgeous. Maybe you're not even the best one on your team. Just as long as you look good, you're marketed. People's opinions are that this team is gorgeous. That doesn't bother me. What bothers me is the double standard in society and athletics.

I admire you.” I shoot him an awed glance and shake my head. “How you so easily dismiss the attention.” Then I loosen the elastic band on my hair and pull it to my sides to use it as a curtain to hide my face. He watches me in confusion. I can feel people staring at us now, and uncomfortably, I grab the aviators he just pulled out and slip them on my face. He looks down at me with a half smile and eyes narrowed in speculation. “Want a fake mustache with that?” “I’m good.” I grin. I follow him to the car and we don’t bother to set the bag in the trunk. The car is super spacious anyway. He opens the door before Otis can fully make it and we ease inside. “Rachel . . .” He falls sober, plucking off the aviators. I’m smiling, but I also feel ashamed. “Sin, I’m sorry.” I drop my face. “It’s going to take me a while to get used to the attention you get.” “Don’t notice it. Don’t give it even a moment’s thought. I never do.” “Hmm.” My mouth twists wryly. “It’s not only the attention, but wondering what lies they’ll put out . . . having no control over that.” I feel my heart squeeze a little as our eyes meet, him sitting across from me, broad and muscular and drop-dead gorgeous. And I admit the closest thing I can say to I love you. “It’s hard when everyone stares at the man you want, and you want him to want nobody but you.” He simply says two words that melt me. “He does.

narrowed at her expression. She was livid, and furious, and drop-dead gorgeous. Her green eyes sparkled like jewels as she fought back tears. “Are you alright?” he repeated. Hannah made

You let this become a mess,” he cursed, as though he'd walked up to Tam and asked him to be drop dead gorgeous and vulnerable, just so that he would have his first guy crush. “I didn't let anything happen. I just…felt it. I think he feels it too,” he argued, trying to talk sense into him. Why was this a bad thing? Konnor didn't have anything to do with Tam anymore, so why did it matter? “Oh God. You're in serious shit now,” Mack bemoaned, rolling his eyes and rubbing his forehead.

Well, lighten up, eh? World’s ended, honey. Swearing’s legal now. Along with thieving, drinking in public and getting absolutely wasted on coke.” She exhaled another lung-full of tobacco. “That’s kind of our bag here...

No one knew Greek mythology like my friend. He was no doubt running through the entire story in his head. How Prometheus stole fire from the gods and gave it to man. And Zeus decided to punish Prometheus by making a clay figure of a smokin’ hot chick which he then brought to life. The gods gave that lady, Pandora, all sorts of gifts like beauty, charm, wit, and curiosity. Then Zeus gave her a box, told her she was never to open it, and told Prometheus he could have this drop-dead gorgeous girl as a wife. Prometheus wasn’t stupid; he knew it was a trick and said, “No way.” Zeus got ticked off and punished Prometheus by chaining him to a rock and then let a vulture chow down on him. Prometheus’s brother married Pandora, and the couple settled down for a happy life. But Pandora always wondered what was in the box Zeus gave her. Finally her curiosity won out. She opened the box, and out flew hate, anger, sickness, poverty, and every bad thing in the world. She slammed the lid down and managed to trap one final thing in the box: hope. So today, even when the going gets tough, every human still has hope. No

The last time I checked, you're now just the opening act and I'm the main event.

If there's one thing I know about this place, it has evil written all over it.

Best friend, not drop-dead-clitoris-calm-your-tits gorgeous. Well...

Well, look at you! Drop dead gorgeous.’ As soon as the words left Jenna’s mouth she realised what she’d said. ‘Oh, Alesha, I’m so sorry.’ Alesha laughed. ‘Literally, hey?

Eugenie looked great, her short spiky auburn hair edged with conservative blond tips and her face wearing a minimum of makeup. Must be Mr. Natural’s influence. I gave her a hug and turned to meet Quince, who was sitting across from her. Okay, I could see the attraction. He had thick, honey-blond hair pulled back in a ponytail not unlike my own, and a green gemstone stud in one ear. He reached out a grasped my hand, shaking it firmly. “It’s great to meet you. Eugenie talks about you all the time.” “She talks a lot about you too, Quince.” The man had no idea. He smiled and his blue-green eyes were almost enthralling. “Most people call me Rand, but Eugenie likes my real name better than my nickname.” After a half hour of small talk, I wasn’t sure I liked Quince Randolph. He was drop-dead gorgeous, no question about that. But there was something off about him I couldn’t quite pinpoint. He stared too hard when he talked to you, made my eye contact than a normal person. I tried to dig into his head a little but came up blank, which was weird, except I’d done a heavy grounding ritual this morning. “You know, I just noticed something.” Eugenie had a funny look on her face. “You guys have the same hair and eye colo. I’d never realized it till I saw you sitting there across from each other.” “Maybe we’re very distantly related.” Rand smiled. “I doubt it,” I said, frowning. “I don’t have much family. And if we were related, I’d be pissed off that you have better cheekbones.

Pines and spruces can't be sheared like yew or hemlock, but they are stately in large landscapes, where their eventual size is a plus. (But they are a nightmare in small yards, where their eventual size is like having a brontosaurus nesting in the front yard.)

The way to get a deciduous hedge for free is to ask a neighbor to let you take divisions from his shrubs. You can take ten or twenty sucker-like shoots with their roots attached before he will notice and start to feel like a sucker himself. Thank him profusely and suggest that you'd love to have him and the wife over to dinner sometime, but don't give a specific date. Perhaps in the winter, you might suggest, when there's not so much work to do in the yard. ...in about three to five years the little suckers will grow into an informal hedge whose height will depend on the type of shrub you have selected. I know three to five years is a long time when you're middle-aged and older. But what do you want? You've just glommed several hundred dollars' worth of shrubs for free, for heaven's sake. In three to five years your neighbor will have forgotten about that dinner, also.

As well he should be. He’s drop-dead gorgeous

So that drawing." Ian extended and arm to full length and pulled down three ceramic bowls from the top shelf of our kitchen cabinet. "Is that all imaginative sketching, or did you have something real to go off of. Because if you did... if you actually saw that in real life, well, I'm not sure how you're alive and sitting here right now. Because that is the definition of drop dead gorgeous.

Girl, Are You On Your... Curtains Steady, this won't hurt a bit I promise this won't hurt a bit Close your eyes for the fist time Pray to your god and gorgive me forgive me father for i have sinned the streets will run red no one knows what goes on behind closed eyes no one knows what goes on behind those eyes Highlight this valley The fire will burn us both

I'm seeing someone." It gets quiet enough to hear our breathing. "You're dating someone?" Aidan asks, sitting back down in my chair. Nadia retakes her spot on my mattress. I glance down at my hands, feeling my cheeks redden. "Not dating, really. It's more like I have feelings I haven't told her about yet." "Do we know her?" I shake my head. "Who is she?" Nadia inquires. I glance up and instantly hate the look of rejection on her face, The lies flow out of me too easily. "Her name's Ivy. She lives over in Harraway with her parents." "Is she our age?" "Yeah. She's only a year older." Try a lot older. I'm answering myself again. "An older woman? Awesome! What does she look like?" I close my eyes as I remember her human form from my dreams. "She's about my height, has long white-blond hair, and green eyes. Ivy's very beautiful." Beautiful? More like drop-dead gorgeous. "She sounds like it." Aidan leans back, putting his hands behind his head. "So where's you meet her?" "At the hospital in Harraway. Ivy does her service hours there." "How come we never saw her?" "You missed each other. She came there at different hours than you guys did." Nadia sticks her hands up and stretches. "What did you two do?" "Talk. Just what we do now. Ivy gave me her phone number and email before I left." "Have you talked to her since?" "Practically every day. She's a wonderful person. You guys would like her." That or you would run away in terror. "So let me get this straight." Aidan scrunches up his face as he thinks everything over. "The reason that you're not gag over Melanie anymore is because of some older chick you met in the hospital?" "Yep." Aidan lets out a long, low whistle. "Damn. If she's good enough to kick Melanie off the love pedestal, she has to be worth going after." I nod. "Yeah. Ivy is. I...I think I like her." If this were a cartoon, Nadia would have a rain cloud over her head—she looks that bashed from my news.

If she has her way ... Willa Davis is wrangling puppies when Keane Winters stalks into her pet shop with frustration in his chocolate-brown eyes and a pink bedazzled cat carrier in his hand. He needs a kitty sitter, stat. But the last thing Willa needs is to rescue a guy who doesn’t even remember her ... He’ll get nothing but coal in his stocking. Saddled with his great-aunt’s Feline from Hell, Keane is desperate to leave her in someone else’s capable hands. But in spite of the fact that he’s sure he’s never seen the drop-dead-gorgeous pet shop owner before, she seems to be mad at him ... Unless he tempers “naughty” with a special kind of nice ... Willa can’t deny that Keane’s changed since high school: he’s less arrogant, for one thing—but can she trust him not to break her heart again? It’s time to throw a coin in the fountain, make a Christmas wish—and let the mistletoe do its work ...

The last time I checked, you're just the opening act and I'm the main event." -Alexis Harper, Drop Dead Gorgeous Empire

I’ve been lumbered with this great lug of dog through a friend of a friend for a couple of months and he has some ...behavioural problems I need to manage ASAP.” “Really?” Her gaze switched to Tiny who wagged his tail looking completely angelic. Ryder could have sworn the damn mutt was smiling. “Look at you, you gorgeous boy,” she crooned, unlatching a section of the counter, lifting it up and ducking through it to join him on the other side. Tiny wagged his tail harder as Juliet approached, one hand held out in friendly greeting. Tiny, whose head came to her breasts, took full advantage, nosing her right in the cleavage as the woman slid her hands on either side of his face and cooed at him. “You are adorable, aren’t you?” Tiny licked, actually licked, her cleavage then shot a shit eating grin in Ryder’s direction. If the dog had eyebrows, one of them would be arrogantly cocked. Ryder blinked. The damn animal had more game than him. “Are you sure?” She leaned forward to drop some kisses between Tiny’s eyes, pushing his snout even further into the cushioned heaven between her breasts. “He seems very placid.” Tiny’s gave an ecstatic little shiver, his tail a blur as it dusted the floor. “Trust me. He’s the antichrist.” “Oh I don’t believe that,” she said to Tiny, her voice light and teasing, her mouth a cute little moue. “Look how sweet and well behaved he is. Good boy.” She kissed him again. “Good boy.” Ryder would be sweet and well behaved if Juliet called him a good boy while cradling his head between her breasts. Hell, he’d roll over and play dead if she wanted.

Well. I’m sure women fall all over you. Do they fall all over you?” “What an interesting way to say that women find me drop-dead gorgeous.

It’s like we’re living in a rom-com.” “You know, if the heroine was drop-dead gorgeous, had the wittiest sense of humor, and had never been in an accident.

He’s drop dead gorgeous and more popular than Justin Bieber. Well, at least before Beebs went off the rails.

And he's just plain wrong. First, he was wrong about you being boring. You don't even need dating lessons, Annie, you were so perfect on our date. Even when you think you're doing something wrong, you're so damn adorable I wanted to pull you into my lap and do things with you in the middle of that diner that would have put me in jail for public indecency. Second, he was so wrong about you being only prettyish. God, Annie, you're drop-dead gorgeous. So beautiful it's hard to look at you and continue persuading myself that kissing you would be a mistake because of our agreement. And third, your ass.' She gasps. 'What about it?' 'Your ass is a work of art. Two absolutely perfect slopes of soft curvy sensuality that absolutely kill me, Annie. Your ass kills me. And I need you to know that if we weren't doing this just-friends thing -- I would have already...

Gabi had been a pretty girl, in a tomboyish sort of way, but he was an absolutely drop-dead gorgeous man.

Your glasses are sexy as fuck.” “The face underneath them wasn’t.” I gently push him off me so I can look him in the eye when I say, “I don’t believe it. You’re all …” I screw up my face. “I was going to say beautiful, but—” “Eww, gag.” I laugh. “Right? But I mean, you’re drop-dead gorgeous.

My heart stuttered and it felt like time stood still the moment Harley turned the corner of the aisle and laid eyes on me. Fuck. She was always drop dead gorgeous, but right here, right now, as she sauntered towards me in her satin ivory gown I felt like luckiest fucking man in the world. - Owen

At this point, I’ve pretty much forgotten about the dead mage in my room and all the years I spent hating this gorgeous man. I only know that the power radiating from his rugged body is making my breath catch. It’s not just how he looks, it’s him, too, and the way he seemed so completely undone by my injury. It’s the way he’s finally dropped his guard.

I still don’t, really, just that her name is Beckett, she’s drop-dead gorgeous, and she kisses like the world is burning down around her.

Slowly, she stood and stripped off her clothes. Water washed through her dark brown hair, over her curves, down her body. Conner studied her for a long moment. She wasn’t drop-dead gorgeous—not like the girls every guy went for—but he thought she had something even more attractive: an unassuming confidence. It drew people like a magnet, put them at ease, compelled them to want to be around her.

She wasn't exactly pretty but was attractive in the way most twenty-five-year-olds are - she still had hope. And hope is drop-dead gorgeous.

I’ve traveled all over the world with my boss, Avery Rhine, and I’ve met more than my fair share of drop-dead gorgeous men”—one eyebrow lifted mischievously—“but you know the one man I’ve never come across before tonight?” “No, who?” “One who thinks my boss’s scar is, and I quote, ‘Sexy as hell.

Jenny is a drop-dead dazzling girl in our halls. With her baby blues that make you weak, yet Just as gorgeous as she is on the outside she is twice as ugly on the inside. That is where her outstanding looks end, she has everything every other girl has, she just an average Jane at an average height like all the others most of the time in the winter wearing the same average-looking size seven blue jeans with the sparkles on the hip posits when it too cold to wear her short skirts, like everyone else. What she has more than the others been the ability of how to get what she wants when she wants it.

[Oh...ha, ha. I didn’t catch the pun, but thank you, Carter. God of the dead, drop-dead gorgeous. Yes, hilarious. Now, may I continue?]