I’m Sam Donovan.” “I know who you are. Mrs. Kulavich told me. I’m Jaine Bright.” “I know. She told me. She even told me how you spell your name.” Now, how on earth had Mrs. Kulavich known that?
The bad thing about living in a small town was that everything became a personal issue. The good thing about living in a small town was that everything became a personal issue. During times of trouble, the support system was massive.
Life's too short to waste it on someone you can't trust. You should be able to depend on the man you love not to lie to you or cheat on you. If you have that as a base, you can work on the other stuff.
Cows are the Devil's handmaidens.
Was the period of happiness worth the unhappiness that followed a breakup? Most people seemed to think so, because they got on the love train time and time again.
Hormones were as potent as whiskey, and twice as sneaky.
He supposed he knew, rationally, that she wasn't the prettiest woman in the world, but if his eyes saw any imperfections, his heart didn't care.
You guys take over while I go put on a shirt." Mrs. Kulavich had edged close enough to hear him. She beamed at him. "Don't bother on my account," she said. "Sadie!" Mr. Kulavich said in rebuke. "Oh, hush, George! I'm old, not dead!" "I'll remind you of that the next time I want to watch the Playboy Channel," he growled.
Well, you've done it now," was her sisterly opening shot. Jaine rubbed between her eyebrows; a definite headache was forming. After the exchange with David, she waited to see where this one was going. "I won't be able to hold up my head in church." "Really? Oh, Shelley, I'm so sorry," Jaine said sweetly. "I didn't realize you have the dreaded Limp Neck disease. When were you diagnosed?
It was just a kiss – " "Yeah, and King Kong was just a monkey.
Okay, let me get a pen." There were rustling noises. "I can't find one." More noises. "Okay,shoot." "You found a pen?" "No, but I have a can of Cheez Whiz. I'll write your number on the counter with it, then find a pen and copy it." Jaine recited her number and listened to the spewing noise as Shelley Cheez-Whizzed it on her countertop.
A thousand thoughts ran through my mind. Well, at least six or seven, anyway, because a thousand thoughts are a lot. Try counting your own thoughts and see how long it takes you to get to a thousand.
Sign by elevator put up by computer geeks in office building: REMEMBER: FIRST YOU PILAGE, THEN YOU BURN. THOSE WHO DO NOT COMPLY WILL BE SUSPENDED FROM THE RAIDING TEAM. In Mr Perfect
I’m really not hungry,” she repeated, lifting the coffee cup and inhaling the fragrant steam before sipping. “Just a few bites,” he cajoled, taking his own place beside her. “You need to keep up your strength for tonight.” She gave him a heated, slumberous look, remembering her fantasy. “Why? Are you planning something special?” “I suppose I am,” he said consideringly. “It’s special every time we make love.
Honey, the only experts in PMS are men. That's why men are so good at fighting wars; they learned Escape and Evade at home.
I thought you were a drunk." "A drunk?" "Bloodshot eyes, dirty clothes, getting home in the wee hours of the morning, making a lot of noise, grouchy all the time as if you had a hangover… what else was I to think?" He rubbed his face. "Sorry, I wasn't thinking. I should have showered, shaved, and dressed in a suit before I came out to tell you that you were making enough noise to raise the dead.
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