Hottie Girl Quotes

Anyway, back to the kids." "Well, one is a girl who looks about your age, and there's a boy." She grinned as she stood. "He's a hottie." A tiny piece of egg caught in my throat. It was seriously gross to hear Mom talking about boys my age. "Hottie? Mom that's just weird.

Don’t mind me,” I said. “I’m just the person who tried to rob the place last July.” “No, you diddn’t,” Abby said, appearing on the roof. She was wearing a trim suit and tall black boots. Her hair was pulled into a sleek ponytail at the nape of her neck, and either i was imagining things or Townsend wasn’t quite as good a spy as I thought, because I could have sworn I saw him drool a little. Note to self: your aunt is a hottie.

The chief clears his throat and gives me the don’t be a sexual predator look.

horny and horrified all at once.

Your mother’s holding for you on line two,” she says. “If I were you, I’d buy a florist and a candy shop. Maybe a winery too. Sounds like she needs them.” Might be time to resign from my personal life.

Is Lisa going to the prom?" I shelved my worries for the moment. "I don't know, Mom. We don't talk about the You-Know-What. We made a pact." "You could go together, if you didn't want to mess with dates and things." "I don't want to mess with the prom at all, Mom." She ignored me, placidly eating popcorn, piece by piece. "Some girls in my high school class did that and had a wonderful time. They weren't lesbians or anything. Not that it would matter if they were." "That's nice, Mom. I'm glad you're so open-minded." I grabbed my Coke and the popcorn bowl and headed for the stairs, because I could go my whole life without ever hearing my mother talk about lesbians again. "Maybe you could take Justin to the prom," she called after me, laughter in her voice. "He is such a hottie." Shoot me now.

You’re not a grown-up. You’re some kind of male sex kitten in a glitter suit, and I’m done with you.

You may look like a chick now Westley, but you've still got game. Of course I do and if you weren't so easy to score on I might actually get to use it sometimes. This was barely a workout. Girl, if you were looking to score all you had to do was say so. You have no idea how easy I can be.

She grabs me by the balls, scraping my sack, and that color behind my eyeballs goes iridescent. Beyond white. I can’t think. I can’t talk. I can barely keep my knees from giving out. “Flaccid,” she whispers. “And still crooked. You should see a doctor about that.

I offer him a chocolate from the glass candy dish my admin insisted I needed. He swallows it, wrapper and all, then grabs the bowl and drinks the rest down. I’ve mentioned I missed these guys, haven’t I? “You’re my fucking hero,” I tell Ares. He grunts and eyes the candy dish like he’s contemplating taking a bite of it too.

In an unexpected move, Bryce reached for my hand and pulled me to his side. “Play along. We’ll straighten this out later.” Good Lord, the school hottie was touching me. It felt like I’d won some sort of geek-girl lottery. And depending on how this played out, Bryce could be the answer to my boyfriend problems. If he wanted me to cover for him, then he needed to help me with my overprotective brothers.

I don’t get it, man. That dude has zero game, then suddenly he up and jets with a hottie? Meanwhile I can’t buy a date.” “Makes no sense.” Hi, face serious. I pressed a fist to my lips, considering. “What’d the girl look like?” “Hot.” Ben shifted his weight. I heard Hi chuckle behind me. I choked back my mounting frustration. “Could you be more specific?” “Oh, right.” Cole rubbed his oily chin and squinted at the ceiling. “She had, like, nice hair. It was sorta . . . black? Or maybe brown. Not blonde, for sure. And she was kinda tall. But not really. Oh, and I think she wore a T-shirt. Could be wrong, though.” I stared at the useless witness before me. What a moron. “Can you remember anything else, Cole?” Catching his eye, I tried to urge the memory from his brain by force of will. “Anything at all?” For a moment, Cole’s face screwed up in thought, then it bloomed with contentment. “He said I could have his mattress. Solid dude, that Jordan.” Hi snapped on his seat belt. “Not everyone is college material.” Shelton shook his head. “I’m surprised that guy remembers to breathe.

Dylan, my man!" Kyle Martinez jogged up from the direction of the parking lot and slapped Dylan on the back. "Is Hannah giving you the 4-1-1 on Red Rocks? This girl knows it all." "Yeah," chimed in Paul Hume, who had appeared on Dylan's other side. "It's hard to believe that someone so hot could have brains, too!" Kyle made an over exaggerated point at Hannah from behind his hand as he whispered to Dylan, "Major hottie." "Hottie!" Colby repeated as he joined the gang gathered on the front lawn. "Are you guys talking about Hannah Banana? She, like, defines the word babe.

who cares that he and those Berger boys who make millions playing hockey now once tried to use fishing line, hair spray, and a lighter to make a ring of fire around the lake and told people it was a ritualistic exorcism to rid me of PMS—

I got to Steve’s door and gasped. He was the Dining Room Hottie! He was on the phone with his back toward me, but there was no mistaking that hair, those shoulders, that suit. What kind of sick joke was the universe pulling? Right there, about to turn around, was the sexy guy I’d been silently seducing for months, and our first conversation was going to begin with, “Hi, I’m Lisa. I don’t know shit about fuck.” I thought I was going to lose my three cookies.

Yes, Max is very hot.” “Excuse me?” She laughed. “He’s the knight, and you’re the noble gentleman, silly. You’re both hotties.” Ethan snorted with a laugh. “On with the tour you noble hotty you.” “You’re a funny girl, but also quite hot.” “Thanks.” Ethan

This is it?” he asked. “Yeah,” Megan replied. “Wow. I thought girls were notorious for overpacking.” “I’m not much of a girl,” Megan replied. What? What did you just say? He looked her up and down and smiled. “Could’ve fooled me.” If the human form could melt spontaneously, Megan would have turned to a puddle of liquid skin right then and there. This six-foot-four, gorgeous hunk of half-naked hottie was flirting with her! Inarticulate, tomboyish, freckle-nosed Megan Meade! He hoisted the mesh bag of soccer balls out of the trunk and flung it over his shoulder. With his other hand he grabbed the large suitcase, leaving only her laptop bag and the smaller suitcase, filled with Megan’s underwear, bras, and pj’s, for her. Even though he had no idea what was in it, Megan was glad that she didn’t have to watch him carry her lingerie up to the house. “I’m Evan, by the way,” he said as she reached up to slam the door. Megan almost choked. “No.” Evan laughed. “Uh…yeah.” “You’re Evan?” Pudgy, stringy-haired, snot-bubble-blowing Evan had morphed into this WB-worthy god of Olympic proportions? “Yeah, I am,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “Didn’t you hit me over the head with a baseball bat once?” “It was a wiffleball bat,” she said. “And I think you hung me from a tree first.” “Huh. I always thought it was a baseball bat,” Evan said. “I’m freakishly strong,” she said. Right. Stop talking now. Stop…talking…now! But Evan was, in fact, still smiling. They started up the lawn toward the rest of the family. But Evan was, in fact, still smiling. They started up the lawn toward the rest of the family. “So, you’re a soccer player, huh?” Evan said as they approached. “Good thing. You’re gonna need to be quick to survive this crowd.

This is it?” he asked. “Yeah,” Megan replied. “Wow. I thought girls were notorious for overpacking.” “I’m not much of a girl,” Megan replied. What? What did you just say? He looked her up and down and smiled. “Could’ve fooled me.” If the human form could melt spontaneously, Megan would have turned to a puddle of liquid skin right then and there. This six-foot-four, gorgeous hunk of half-naked hottie was flirting with her! Inarticulate, tomboyish, freckle-nosed Megan Meade! He hoisted the mesh bag of soccer balls out of the trunk and flung it over his shoulder. With his other hand he grabbed the large suitcase, leaving only her laptop bag and the smaller suitcase, filled with Megan’s underwear, bras, and pj’s, for her. Even though he had no idea what was in it, Megan was glad that she didn’t have to watch him carry her lingerie up to the house.

Kara and Brayden are Girlfriend and Boyfriend, Dani and Easton are Beautiful and Handsome, Ally and Zack are Ponytail and Motorcycle Hottie, and me and Asher are Tutor and Pupil.

Sam Temple kept a lower profile. He stuck to jeans and understated T-shirts, nothing that drew attention to himself. He had spent most of his life in Perdido Beach, attending this school, and everybody knew who he was, but few people were quite sure what he was. He was a surfer who didn’t hang out with surfers. He was bright, but not a brain. He was good-looking, but not so that girls thought of him as a hottie. The one thing most kids knew about Sam Temple was that he was School Bus Sam. He’d earned the nickname when he was in seventh grade. The class had been on the way to a field trip when the bus driver had suffered a heart attack. They’d been driving down Highway 1. Sam had pulled the man out of his seat, steered the bus onto the shoulder of the road, brought it safely to a stop, and calmly dialed 911 on the driver’s cell phone. If he had hesitated for even a second, the bus would have plunged off a cliff and into the ocean. His picture had been in the paper.

She'd read ton of books with female heroines who swooned at the sight of their true love and had thought them to be incredibly wimpy. Now here she stood, barely able to keep herself upright. Not that she was in love...far from it. But a girl could appreciate a bona fide hottie when she saw one, right?

He’s here again!” She looked up from the books she was shelving. “Who’s here?” “Hottie Dad and his cute little girl! Elise Chandler’s poor daughter. They just walked in.

they are brown shitted towel heads who do not deserve a good looking white girl.  And the hottie white girls who let the greedy, lustful shitbags' dicks in their vaginas are the whores

Try to work on being okay with being a total reject, a freak, a wobbly little weirdo, a loser, a fine-ass hottie, and an ordinary everyday girl with all kinds of struggles. It’s okay. Try to remind yourself, every single day, that it’s you who decides if you’re happy or not, the real you, the current you, not the past you. And your happiness should definitely not be up to everybody else in this goddamn shitty, fucked-up world. Remember that things are always changing. Remember that love, even if it goes bad in the end, was still a good thing, because it came from you, out of who you are as a person. Remember that the good times, when they happen, are worth all the trouble. Remember that sadness and heartbreak, frustration and loss, even bitter, hopeless fucking tragedy, they’re all part of what makes a beautiful story. Just like flaws, freakiness, fuck-ups, and all your fallible character defects are all part of what makes a fantastic fucking you. Remember that making mistakes doesn’t make you a bad person. It makes you a human being, somebody who’s just trying to get through this fucked up life, just like everybody else, and doesn’t know everything. Sometimes you screw up. Sometimes a fuck up ruins lives. But you’re only a bad person if you don’t learn anything from your mistakes, if you just keep going, like a bull in a China shop, hurting people over and over forever, never changing. Remember that you can still love yourself, even if you’ve made horrible, terrible mistakes, even if you’ve ruined people’s lives. You can still love who you are. You have to, or you won’t survive. Remember that the awful things people did to you do not define who you are. Your choices define who you are, and you never chose any of that shit. Remember that you’re not all alone in being a freak. Remember that you fucking rock.

This woman drives me mad. She’s obnoxious as toe fungus and pathologically self-righteous. I want to crush her. I want to ruin her. I want to own her.

When he smiles, fairies sing and the sun shoots glitter on its light beams and magical, happy, non-possessed unicorns fart rainbows across the sky.

I’m simultaneously mortified and lustified. And if you don’t think lustified is a word, trust me, it is, and I am so that right now. Hornified too, which is like being horny and horrified all at once.

Getting off is great, but He was a man who had sex, and lots of it, and in the worst locations, with the woman of his nightmares isn’t the inscription I want on my tombstone.

I have a half-drunk bottle of cheap white wine—she strikes me as the red type—a bouquet of flowers that I put on my chair and bounced on with my ass, and a box of coconut chocolates on the table. Ambrosia hates coconut like normal people hate expired milk or wasp stings. Probably because she’s allergic. If this doesn’t say I hate you, let’s go fuck in the back alley, I’ll have to accept the fact that I’ll spend

She squeezes back—lightly enough she could claim it was a twitch if she wanted to—and my heart melts. I’m done, ladies and gentlemen. Bro Berger won a gold medal in the orgasm Olympics, and now she’s hugging me. On purpose.

Six feet of pure sin stands wide-legged in the doorway. His smile is a lie, his smoky blue eyes a portal to self-destruction, the dimple in his chin twice the size needed to store what’s left of his conscience.

Just want to bend them all until they snap in two? Ah, I’m asking for a friend. Because of course I wasn’t stupid enough to think sex with Chase Jett and his magic peen could come without a price.

The girls may have only been ages six to eight, but they could spot a hottie when they saw one.

I don't aggressively approach every hottie I see like Pepé Le Pew from those Bugs Bunny cartoons. I use my intuition and assess the situation before making my attack. Come at her like a creepy perv with nothing to offer and you will repel her like Raid cockroach spray.

Ares, put him down,” I order, but I sound like a sex-crazed nympho at a dildo party.

He apologized, my hopeless vagina squeals. Let’s hump him. She’s on probation, so I ignore her.

Zero to sixty in four-point-three seconds. Good luck getting that with one of your crunchy, free-range, organic toadstool boyfriends. And we haven’t even gotten to the main event.

I consider dropping her on her ass while she’s a pile of rotten jelly in my arms, but instead wait until her eyes focus again. Fucking gentleman of the year, that’s me.

If you don’t like it, you could quit touching it.” If she quits touching me, I’m going to fucking die. “I can barely tell your hand is there anyway.” “It’s a mercy stroke. I’m generous like that. And you’re a lying fuck-face.

This woman does abnormal, not-right things to my brain. And my body. And my mouth. “Bend over, cabbage face,” I order. “Why? You couldn’t find my g-spot with a flashlight and a guide.

It’s Bro. She’d tackle me in the produce aisle, rip my pants off, ride me like a donkey, and ask if me that was a microscopic needle in my pants or if the nice scientists in the asylum had noticed I was missing yet.

Have you seen Minnesota mosquitoes? They’re horses with wings. It’s like being bitten by a hornless unicorn.

She’s already moving in his direction until she flippantly waves me off and heads toward him. “Thanks,” I say to the blonde after both girls are out of earshot.

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