Sloan Love Quotes

I would kill for you, and I have. I would do it again, every damn day. I’d turn myself inside out for you. I would die for you. I don’t just like you, Sloane, and you fucking know it.

I love the recklessness of faith. First you leap, and then you grow wings.

He asked <...> Rosemary, why do you love books so much? And I said, Well, I don't know <...> I suppose I love them because they're quiet, and I can take them to the park.

The world is too dangerous for anything but truth and too small for anything but love.

I still love him. This man that I have thought was forever lost to me. If I am completely honest with myself, I never stopped loving him. But, all this knowledge shouldn’t scare me. The teenage love we shared over a decade ago has grown with such a power that it will kill me if I lose it again.

When you love someone, you fight. You fight for them, and you fight with them. She needed me to fight for her then, and I’ll continue to do that until she can fight for herself again.

If you have to ask someone to change, to tell you they love you, to bring wine to dinner, to call you when they land, you can't afford to be with them.

You're a good man, Greg Cage. You give me some time, and I might just fall in love with you." "That's the plan, Beauty.

He’s Rowan,” Sloane says, gesturing at me again. Rose narrows her eyes as though this is insufficient information. “He’s my f-fr…boy. Guy. A man-guy. I’m…with. Here.”  I snort a laugh as Rose’s face scrunches. “Man-guy,” I echo. “Real smooth, Blackbird.

Fine. Let Ranger get someone else. Trust me, you don't want to be out looking for a parking place on Sloane in the middle of the night." "I won't have to look for a parking place. Tank's picking me up." "Your working with a guy name Tank?" "He's big." "Jesus", Morelli said. "I had to fall in love with a woman who works with a guy named Tank." "You love me?" "Of course I love you. I just don't want to marry you.

If you have to ask someone to change, to tell you they love you, to bring wine to dinner, to call you when they land, you can’t afford to be with them. It’s not worth the price, even though, just like the Tiffany catalog, no one tells you what the price is. You set it yourself, and if you’re lucky it’s reasonable. You have a sense of when you’re about to go bankrupt. Your own sense of self-worth takes the wheel and says, Enough of this shit. Stop making excuses. No one’s that busy at work. No one’s allergic to whipped cream. There are too cell phones in Sweden. But most people don’t get lucky. They get human. They get crushes. This means you irrationally mortgage what little logic you own to pay for this one thing. This relationship is an impulse buy, and you’ll figure out if it’s worth it later.

Not one day went by Izzy that my heart didn’t belong to you. To this day there has only been one woman that has and will ever hold it. Fuck, baby but the love I have for you is so fucking strong sometimes, I wonder if it will crush me.

If you love someone, you tell them. Even if you're scared that it's not the right thing. Even if you're scared that it'll cause problems. Even if you're scared that it will burn your life to the ground, you say it, and you say it loud and you go from there.

I want you to promise me something. If you love someone, you tell them. Even if you're scared that it's not the right thing. Even if you're scared that it will cause problems. Even if you're scared it will burn your life to the ground. You say it, and you say it loud. And then you go from there....

From my observation, the older you get, the more you like the word cozy. That's why most of the elderly wear pants with elastic waistbands. If they wear pants at all. This may explain why grandparents are in love with buying grand kids pajamas and bathrobes.

I never asked my mother where babies came from but I remember clearly the day she volunteered the information....my mother called me to set the table for dinner. She sat me down in the kitchen, and under the classic caveat of 'loving each other very, very much,' explained that when a man and a woman hug tightly, the man plants a seed in the woman. The seed grows into a baby. Then she sent me to the pantry to get placemats. As a direct result of this conversation, I wouldn't hug my father for two months.

I can feel the sun warming my skin. I love this blissful state between sleep and just waking. But I no longer relish this moment for being numb, no…now I relish this moment because it reminds me I am alive.

Celine snorted. “Never have I ever had a thing for blondes,” she said. And then, her eyes on Sloane, she shot our statistician a dazzling smile and lowered her own finger —meaning that she did have a thing for blondes.

It's never good to fall in love with someone whom you'd have to stab in the eyeballs to elicit a response.

Friendship is a Spackle in itself. You'll forgive your friends a lot, and if you're a woman, you'll forgive your straight male friends even more. They represent the possibility of mutual toleration between the sexes, a keyhole into the mind of the Other, and the promise of one day meeting someone just like them except that you want to sleep with them.

Love measures our stature: the more we love, the bigger we are. There is no smaller package in all the world than that of a man all wrapped up in himself.

Having her in my arms feels like coming home. I am not one to believe in all that love at first sight bullshit, but even as cynical as I am, I can recognize something bigger than lust at work. My body wants her; that is no secret, but the level of want is borderline craving. I need her. Needing someone is not something I am used to. No, I am used to being needed… something this woman clearly doesn’t want.

The search for one's first professional job is not unlike a magical love potion: when one wants to fall in love with the next thing one sees, one generally does.

But don't you know, Mr. Stoner?" Sloane asked. "Don't you understand about yourself yet? You're going to be a teacher." Suddenly Sloane seemed very distant, and the walls of the office receded. Stoner felt himself suspended in the wide air, and he heard his voice ask, "Are you sure?" "I'm sure," Sloane said softly. "How can you tell? How can you be sure?" "It's love, Mr. Stoner," Sloane said cheerfully. "You are in love. It's as simple as that.

I stand by your side because this is where I’m meant to be. I stand by your side because you didn’t have the strength to hold yourself up. That’s what you do for the person you love.

I love you, Axel Reid. I have loved you forever and I will never stop. Made for me, baby. You were made for me. Don’t ever leave me. Never again.

When it comes to love, it's always worth the sacrifice. Always.

The definition of a beautiful woman is one who loves me.

Love is agreeing to live in someone else's narrative.

Because I ‘like you’...?” Rowan cackles an incredulous laugh. “Like. You. Seriously…? Christ, Sloane. You are fucking brilliant but also the most willfully oblivious person I have ever met. Do you really think I just like you when I framed a drawing you left for me on a scrap of paper you tore from a notebook? The one I hung it in the kitchen so I can look at it every day and think of you? Do you think I just like you when I tattoo it on my skin? I play this fucking game every year and tear my heart out watching you walk away, only to do it all over again, and I like you? You think I just like you when I fuck you like this?

You’re going to love Violet. She’s smart and stubborn. Reminds me a lot of you, actually. You just have to remember when you meet her: she’s not her mother. —Recovered Correspondence of Cadet Liam Mairi to Sloane Mairi

Something caught your eye, pretty boy?” I whisper.  “Yes,” he says, his voice pained. “God, yes, Sloane. All of you.

Everyone wants to fall in love. But I think more people are in love with the theory of love. If you’re looking in from the outside, it looks so beautiful. On the inside, it’s scary because it can take over your life. It’s the strongest emotion but also the darkest. It can put you on a high for days, but it can wrap an anchor around your feet and drown you in less than a minute. If everyone knew the truth no one would really ask for love. But when it drops into your life, you can only hope that you have enough strength to hang on.

Sometimes I think together we are the worst kind of calamity." Thayer grinned back. Severine's lips burned. "Then I've never wanted to be destroyed so bad.

there’s nothing wrong with a man who enjoys a good romance book. My dad always said the best way to learn what a woman wants is to pick up some of the smut they love to read so much. Written by a woman, it might as well be a road map to instant pleasure.

...for if you lessen your anger at the structures of power, you lower your love for the victims of power.

Get over here and give your man some love.

Rosemary, why do you love books so much?" (...) "Well, actually, I love books because books are my best friends.

You’re all the best things to me, Sloane. No matter how many bruises are in your heart or on your skin.

I won’t go so far as saying it was love at first sight, but it damn sure was hard on at first sight. That motherfucker doesn’t have selective taste though, so I can’t rely on that alone.

In the interest of ultimate honesty,” Celine cut in, “I’m pretty sure that everyone present would appreciate it if you two got a room.” “I wouldn’t,” Dean grumbled. “I am unbothered by displays of physical and emotional intimacy,” Sloane volunteered. “The nuances and statistics underlying courtship behavior are quite fascinating.” The edges of Celine’s lips quirked upward as she met Sloane’s gaze. “You don’t say.” Sloane frowned. “I just did.

I love you, Sloane Winthrop. I always have. I love you so damn hard I don’t even know what to do with it. You’re my person. And I think I’m yours too.” “You have always been my person,” she chokes out. “I love you so much.

You're all I see, Sloan. Beyond the job, beyond right and wrong. You're all I see.

Prophets from Amos and Isaiah to Gandhi and King have shown how frequently compassion demands confrontation. Love without criticism is a kind of betrayal. Lying is done with silence as well as with words.

If Sloane’s quiet words hadn’t been enough to get Dex squirming in his towel, Sloane’s quick kiss to his lips sealed the deal. Oh God, he was about to get a hard-on at work, and the bastard that was the cause of it was loving every moment of it. Think unsexy thoughts. Think unsexy thoughts. Ash’s growl echoed through the showers. “What are you two gay boys doing in there?” Aaand done. --Dex

But being a brother or a sister (if you are lucky enough) is the role of a lifetime.

It is not because we have value that we are loved, but because we are loved that we have value. Our value is a gift, not an achievement.

Sloane stepped out from under the showerhead and grabbed his shower gel, catching Dex’s eyes on him as Dex said, “Not staring, appreciating,” before turning his attention back to Ash, “and who doesn’t partake in a good gander every so often? If you’re gonna stand there and tell me you ain’t never sneaked a peek at another dude’s love truncheon, I’m calling bull-poopie.

I'm in love with Dr. Lowe," I said abruptly. My mom paused, arched one eyebrow, and set the bands on my nightstand. "Oh, Cassidy, I know. I figured that out watching you two in recovery.

If everyone knew the truth, no one would really ask for love. But when it drops into your life, you can only hope that you have enough strength to hang on.

I want nothing to do with that, but the lump in my throat is having fun calling me a liar. There is just no way to watch a love like that unite and not feel it.

Love, when you get fear in it, it's not love any more. It's hate.

I need you to be okay, Sloane. Please. I don’t know if you can hear me. You probably can’t, but I’ll say it anyway. I love you. I love you, and you can’t leave me.

He smiles and it isn’t a smile of sadness.  It’s one of acceptance.  And right then and there, I know without a doubt that I don’t deserve this man, but I’ll fight like hell to be worthy of the love he’s offering. 

Patience wasn't even a factor. When you love someone, you fight. You fight for them, and you fight with them. She needed me to fight for her then, and I'll continue to do that until she can fight for herself again.

No one competes with Sloane.” Rowan’s eyes anchor on mine, dragging me into the depths of a navy sea.  “She just hasn’t realized it yet.

I can’t make you say you love me.” He blinked and the aqua in his eyes darkened. They filled with determination. “But I can make you feel it.” I

A love worth having, is worth fighting for.

Hadoop! I love the sound of it. Kat Potente, you and I will have a son, and we will name him Hadoop, and he will be a great warrior, a king!

I'll always be here, because with everyday that passes, I find new ways to love you.

What is faith? Faith is being grasped by the power of love.

I squeeze my eyes shut and whisper in her damp hair. "You're all I see, Sloan. Beyond the job, beyond right and wrong. You're all I see.

We win. Our love wins. They can say what they want. Hate me, make me the villain, and do their worst to try to rip me apart. They only win if we let them, and that will never happen.

If you stop referring to my penis as a love truncheon.” “Love dart?” “No.” “Portable pocket rocket?” Sloane smiled. “Absolutely.” The smile vanished. “Not.” “How about moisture missile? Peacemaker? Heat seeking missile?

Sloane Walton, I have loved you for so long I don’t remember what my life was like before my heart was yours. It’s changed over the years. But I’ve loved you as a friend, an enemy, a lover. It would be my greatest honor in this lifetime if you would let me love you as my wife.

Babe, how can you can be so blind when your eyes are wide open?  Even if he wasn’t the coolest kid I have ever met, even if I didn’t enjoy the hell out of my time reliving my childhood with the little guy, he is part of you.  No, he isn’t yours and I understand that, but he is part of you, and Beauty, how can I not love that

Fear destroys intimacy. It distances us from each other; or makes us cling to each other, which is the death of freedom.... Only love can create intimacy, and freedom too, for when all hearts are one, nothing else has to be one--neither clothes nor age; neither sex nor sexual preference; race nor mind-set.

You fucking love me, woman,” I declare before crashing my mouth to hers and giving her a bruising kiss.

But if we hate evil more than we love the good, we become damn good haters.... However deep, our anger, like that of Christ, must always and only measure our love.

I'll love him so much, little brother," he whispers.

How will he know you loved him," she asks, "unless you try to destroy yourself?

Turning the pages of this encoded codex, I realize that the books I love most are like open cities, with all sorts of ways to wander in. This thing is a fortress with no front gate. You're meant to scale the walls, stone by stone.

I love you, Rowan,” I blurt out. I take only a moment to register the shock in Rowan’s expression before I barrel into him, wrapping his solid body in my embrace. His heart hammers beneath my ear as I press my face to his chest.  His arms fold around me, one hand threading into my hair as he lays a kiss to the crown of my head. “I love you too, Sloane. So fucking much. But the restaurant was probably a giant clue.

Romance may be the world’s oldest cult. It hooks you when you’re vulnerable, scares the shit out of you, hold your deepest fears as collateral, renames you something like ‘baby,’ brainwashes you, then makes you think that your soul will wither and die if you let go of a person who loved you. So you better have a good goddamn reason for saying ‘nah, not enough.’ The love lobby is worse than the fun lobby. More misery, more addiction, more heads on spikes. And for what?

Izzy, from the first moment our eyes met, I knew you would be mine forever. There wasn't a day that passed you didn't hold my heart. Everything I have ever done in my life was with you in my mind, even when I didn't think this moment would ever come, it was all I prayed for. We might not have had the easiest road to get here, but know, from this day forward, I will do everything in my power to ensure that there is nothing but perfection. The happiness and love we deserve, baby.

She's wearing the same red and yellow BAM! T-shirt from before, which means (a) she slept in, (b) she owns several identical T-shirts, or (c) she's a cartoon character—all of which are appealing alternatives.

If I could just get my partner to see me how she used to - to fall in love with me all over again - everything would be okay. Every morning I would vow to work harder, and every morning something would go wrong.

I’m going to be worthy of you, Emmy,” I vow softly, my cheek pressed against hers and my lips whispering my promise in her ear.  “I promise you, angel.  I’m going to be the man you deserve.  I—God—I fucking love you.

I’d teach you a lesson about wanting. About wanting to come so badly you have to beg for it.” My cock hardens as Sloane’s blood surges against my fingertips. “And once I was sure you’d learned that lesson, I’d teach you about wanting to stop coming so badly you beg for that too.

I didn’t gouge them out, Butcher. I plucked them. Delicately. Like a lady.” Sloane sticks her finger in her mouth, pressing it against her cheek as she wraps her lips around it only to snap it out with a pop. “Just like that.

It took a while to learn that being in love is not enough. Choosing love is what it takes,” she says as she slides the ring onto my finger. Ethel’s hand folds over mine and she flicks a glance not to Lachlan, but to where Rowan and Sloane stand behind me before she leans a little closer. “You are choosing love, Lark. And I am so proud of you.

hope had become despair, protestors had become terrorists, love had become sex, music had become noise, and us had become me.

I hugged my mom. “Is it supposed to hurt this much, mommy?” I asked. “My sweet Sloane,” she said. “True love hurts the worst.” Sloane and Tammi

Hadn't someone once said love was attention? No more, no less. There was attention, and there was obsession, and there was possession.

That’s just their way, honey. His father was the same way with Dee. Axel the same with me. Greg and Melissa. Maddox and Emmy. Asher and Chelcie. My sweet Dani with Cohen. Heck, even Davey had his moment with Sway. These men, it’s just how they are. When they set their minds to something there is nothing and no one that will hold them back. And sweetheart, before you even let this thought take root in your mind, when they know, they know and they know in a way that sticks forever.

So I do what every woman does when you need to kill a few hours, just walk into a Target. You could probably lose a decade of your life in one shopping trip, not to mention spend enough money to need a second mortgage. That store, it’s my crack.

When it comes to love, it’s always worth the sacrifice. Always. One thing my parents taught me was that when you find the reason for your heart to beat, you don’t ever let it go, and if, for some reason beyond your control, you have to, you fight with every breath in your body to have it back. You are worth that to me. You aren’t asking me to give anything up, Cohen. I’ve loved you my whole damn life . . . What’s a few more months of waiting if I know you’re coming back to me?

Well, bingo, his name popped up in the database on this crime ring’s computer as one of their own. Sloane, Wilma, KazuKen, Celi-hag, BunnyMuff, were all part of the illegal and criminal cyber-bullying ring that used blackmail to extort celebrities and famous authors, musicians, schools like Aunt Sookie Acting Academy for money or they will post lies, false rumors, photo shopped fake photos, and accusations of fake awards, fake credentials on the internet. They did that to Summer and tried to do that with Aunt Sookie, apparently. But as seemingly innocent as they seem, using young girls’ photos as their supposed fake identities, they really were part of a larger crime ring.”, Loving Summer by Kailin Gow

I would have dropped everything to save you from any ounce of pain. If it is within my reach to do that now, know that I will never fucking let pain touch your heart, baby. It kills me to know how easy it was for the world to rip us apart. For years baby, I have spent years thinking you left me. That you chose to leave me. God... He trails off and leans down to capture my lips. This kiss is like nothing we have shared since coming back to us. This kiss is full of the sadness that of what we have lost but with the promise of what we will have. His lips make love to mine.

He also tried to block the doorway when she left him. My mother ducked under his arm, ran to her car, and drove away. I remember thinking that this was somehow romantic, as it pinpointed the actual memory of my mother's departure, something you don't see a lot of in television. Real people don't slam doors without opening them five minutes later because it's raining and they forgot their umbrella. They don't stop dead in their tracks because they realize they're in love with their best friend.They don't say, "I'm leaving you, Jack," and fade to a paper towel commercial.

The only bit I have pictured in any detail is the music (maybe 'The Book of Love' by the Magnetic Fields. Or Johnny Cash's 'It Ain't Me, Babe'). It doesn't matter if the selection is slow or fast, but couples shouldn't scramble to select it. If you have ever gone dancing or on a road trip or had a romantic bout of serenaded sex on a winter night, you should have a few to pick from. If not, you probably shouldn't be getting married.

Those women hold nothing to you. They aren't the ones I want. You are. If I have to knock each and every one of those fears out of your mind, I'll gladly do it if it means you understand, without a shadow of doubt, that when I look at you, I fucking love what I see.

They had some sort of magical power to their love. Nothing that you would ever be able to describe, but when you saw them together there was no denying it. They would look at each other and it was as if there was some invisible cord that connected them completely. Mom would give Dad a smile and he would laugh softly under his breath, always causing her face to redden. He would walk into the room and her whole body would jolt like it had been struck by lightning.

I knew she loved sushi because it was neat and easy to eat on the go. I knew she preferred double cheeseburgers when she was on her period and steak, medium rare, at client dinners unless her client was vegetarian, in which case she ordered soup and salad. She liked her wine white, her coffee black, and her gin with a splash of tonic. I knew all of these things because despite her assumption that I paid attention to no one except myself, I couldn’t stop noticing her if my life depended on it. Every detail, every moment, all filed and categorized in the Sloane cabinet of my mind.

Anne had wandered down the the Dryard's Bubble and was curled up among the ferns at the root of the n=big white birch where sher and Gilbert had so often sat ion summers gone by. Hew had gone into the newspaper office again when college was closed, and Avonlea seemed very dull without him. He never wrote to her, and Anne missed the letters that neer came. To be sure, Roy wrote twice a week; his letters were exquisite compositions which would have read beautifully in a memoir or biography. Anne felt herself more deeply in love with him that ever when she read the; but her heart never game that queer, quick, painful bound at sight of his letters which had given one day when Mrs. Hiram Sloane had handed her out an envelope addressed in Gilbert's black, upright handwriting. Anne had hurried home to the east gable and opened it eagrly--to find a typewritten copy of some college society report--"only that and nothing more." Anne flung the harmless screed across her room and sat down to write and especially nice epistle to Roy

I love you, Sloane, and if you think I'm letting you go that easily, you're mistaken. I've spent half my life running from the hard stuff and taking the easy way out because I'd never wanted anything enough to work for it. Then I met you, and I finally understood what people meant when they said love is worth fighting for. I know it sounds like a cliché, and if you heard this in a movie, you'd probably write a scathing review about it but I mean it. I've learned to fight for what’s important, and there's nothing in this world that's more important to me than you. Not the club, not my inheritance, not my reputation.

I’m not sure how the ponies happened, though I have an inkling: “Can I get you anything?” I’ll say, getting up from a dinner table, “Coffee, tea, a pony?” People rarely laugh at this, especially if they’ve heard it before. “This party’s ‘sposed to be fun,” a friend will say. “Really? Will there be pony rides?” It’s a nervous tic and a cheap joke, cheapened further by the frequency with which I use it. For that same reason, it’s hard to weed it out of my speech – most of the time I don’t even realize I’m saying it. There are little elements in a person’s life, minor fibers that become unintentionally tangled with your personality. Sometimes it’s a patent phrase, sometimes it’s a perfume, sometimes it’s a wristwatch. For me, it is the constant referencing of ponies. I don’t even like ponies. If I made one of my throwaway equine requests and someone produced an actual pony, Juan-Valdez-style, I would run very fast in the other direction. During a few summers at camp, I rode a chronically dehydrated pony named Brandy who would jolt down without notice to lick the grass outside the corral and I would careen forward, my helmet tipping to cover my eyes. I do, however, like ponies on the abstract. Who doesn’t? It’s like those movies with the animated insects. Sure, the baby cockroach seems cute with CGI eyelashes, but how would you feel about fifty of her real-life counterparts living in your oven? And that’s precisely the manner in which the ponies clomped their way into my regular speech: abstractly. “I have something for you,” a guy will say on our first date. “Is it a pony?” No. It’s usually a movie ticket or his cell phone number. But on our second date, if I ask again, I’m pretty sure I’m getting a pony. And thus the Pony drawer came to be. It’s uncomfortable to admit, but almost every guy I have ever dated has unwittingly made a contribution to the stable. The retro pony from the ‘50s was from the most thoughtful guy I have ever known. The one with the glitter horseshoes was from a boy who would later turn out to be straight somehow, not gay. The one with the rainbow haunches was from a librarian, whom I broke up with because I felt the chemistry just wasn’t right, and the one with the price tag stuck on the back was given to me by a narcissist who was so impressed with his gift he forgot to remover the sticker. Each one of them marks the beginning of a new relationship. I don’t mean to hint. It’s not a hint, actually, it’s a flat out demand: I. Want. A. Pony. I think what happens is that young relationships are eager to build up a romantic repertoire of private jokes, especially in the city where there’s not always a great “how we met” story behind every great love affair. People meet at bars, through mutual friends, on dating sites, or because they work in the same industry. Just once a coworker of mine, asked me out between two stops on the N train. We were holding the same pole and he said, “I know this sounds completely insane, bean sprout, but would you like to go to a very public place with me and have a drink or something...?” I looked into his seemingly non-psycho-killing, rent-paying, Sunday Times-subscribing eyes and said, “Sure, why the hell not?” He never bought me a pony. But he didn’t have to, if you know what I mean.

Does this feel like I don’t love every goddamn thing about your body, Chelcie?  Hmm?  Because let me tell you, Sunshine.  I see your body and I want to throw you over my shoulder every damn time.  I see your tits and I want to take them in my hands.  I want to watch your pink nipples harden at my touch right before I suck them deep in my mouth.  I see the stomach you say isn’t firm enough and, honestly, I could care less, babe.  I see your stomach and I remember how hot you looked carrying our boy.  Then I can’t help but get hot thinking about putting another baby in there.  And that ass.  Jesus Christ, you don’t even want to know how many times I’ve had to go to the bathroom at work because I’ll picture that fine ass and all of a sudden my cock is begging for release.  I see those thighs you say are getting dimples and all I can think about is getting my hands on them—spreading your legs and digging my fingers in while I devour that sweet pussy with my tongue.

When I made it to the living room, I wasn’t surprised to see that the only one actually taking a practice GED was Dean. Lia was filing her nails. Sloane appeared to be constructing some kind of catapult out of pencils and rubber bands. Lia caught sight of me first. “Good morning, sunshine,” she said. “I’m no Michael, but based on the expression on your face, I’m guessing you’ve been spending some quality time with the lovely Agent Sterling.” Lia beamed at me. “Isn’t she the best?” The eerie thing about Lia was that she could make anything sound genuine. Lia wasn’t fond of the FBI in general, and she was the type to flout rules based on principle alone, but even knowing her enthusiasm was feigned, I couldn’t see through it. “There’s something about that Agent Sterling that just makes me want to listen to what she has to say,” Lia continued earnestly. “I think we might be soul mates.” Dean snorted, but didn’t look up from his practice test. Sloane set off her catapult, and I had to duck to keep from taking a pencil to the forehead.

A cell phone rang from the end table to my right and Kristen bolted up straight. She put her beer on the coffee table and dove across my lap for her phone, sprawling over me. My eyes flew wide. I’d never been that close to her before. I’d only ever touched her hand. If I pushed her down across my knees, I could spank her ass. She grabbed her phone and whirled off my lap. “It’s Sloan. I’ve been waiting for this call all day.” She put a finger to her lips for me to be quiet, hit the Talk button, and put her on speaker. “Hey, Sloan, what’s up?” “Did you send me a potato?” Kristen covered her mouth with her hand and I had to stifle a snort. “Why? Did you get an anonymous potato in the mail?” “Something is seriously wrong with you,” Sloan said. “Congratulations, he put a ring on it. PotatoParcel.com.” She seemed to be reading a message. “You found a company that mails potatoes with messages on them? Where do you find this stuff?” Kristen’s eyes danced. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Do you have the other thing though?” “Yeeeess. The note says to call you before I open it. Why am I afraid?” Kristen giggled. “Open it now. Is Brandon with you?” “Yes, he’s with me. He’s shaking his head.” I could picture his face, that easy smile on his lips. “Okay, I’m opening it. It looks like a paper towel tube. There’s tape on the—AHHHHHH! Are you kidding me, Kristen?! What the hell!” Kristen rolled forward, putting her forehead to my shoulder in laughter. “I’m covered in glitter! You sent me a glitter bomb? Brandon has it all over him! It’s all over the sofa!” Now I was dying. I covered my mouth, trying to keep quiet, and I leaned into Kristen, who was howling, our bodies shaking with laughter. I must not have been quiet enough though. “Wait, who’s with you?” Sloan asked. Kristen wiped at her eyes. “Josh is here.” “Didn’t he have a date tonight? Brandon told me he had a date.” “He did, but he came back over after.” “He came back over?” Her voice changed instantly. “And what are you two doing? Remember what we talked about, Kristen…” Her tone was taunting. Kristen glanced at me. Sloan didn’t seem to realize she was on speaker. Kristen hit the Talk button and pressed the phone to her ear. “I’ll call you tomorrow. I love you!” She hung up on her and set her phone down on the coffee table, still tittering. “And what did you two talk about?” I asked, arching an eyebrow. I liked that she’d talked about me. Liked it a lot. “Just sexually objectifying you. The usual,” she said, shrugging. “Nothing a hot fireman like you can’t handle.” A hot fireman like you.I did my best to hide my smirk. “So do you do this to Sloan a lot?” I asked. “All the time. I love messing with her. She’s so easily worked up.” She reached for her beer. I chuckled. “How do you sleep at night knowing she’ll be finding glitter in her couch for the next month?” She took a swig of her beer. “With the fan on medium.” My laugh came so hard Stuntman Mike looked up and cocked his head at me. She changed the channel and stopped on HBO. Some show. There was a scene with rose petals down a hallway into a bedroom full of candles. She shook her head at the TV. “See, I just don’t get why that’s romantic. You want flower petals stuck to your ass? And who’s gonna clean all that shit up? Me? Like, thanks for the flower sex, let’s spend the next half an hour sweeping?” “Those candles are a huge fire hazard.” I tipped my beer toward the screen. “Right? And try getting wax out of the carpet. Good luck with that.” I looked at the side of her face. “So what do you think is romantic?” “Common sense,” she answered without thinking about it. “My wedding wouldn’t be romantic. It would be entertaining. You know what I want at my wedding?” she said, looking at me. “I want the priest from The Princess Bride. The mawage guy.