You're a psychopath." "I prefer creative.

Does this have anything to do with the unit we’re studying? Because I can’t find anything about desired characteristics of a mate anywhere in our text.

See, when you lie to me it hurts," Rixon said, swiping an imaginary tear. "I thought we had something special. I thought our joint eternal sentences of damnation were our bond.

First,” he said, coming behind me and placing his hands on the counter, just outside of mine, “choose your tomato.” He dipped his head so his mouth was at my ear. His breath was warm, tickling my skin. “Good. Now pick up the knife.” “Does the chef always stand this close?” I asked, not sure if I liked or feared the flutter his closeness caused inside me. “When he’s revealing culinary secrets, yes.

I don't go out with strangers," I said. "Good thing I do. I'll pick you up at five.

Love the hair. Love when it’s out of control. It’s like seeing a side of you that needs to come out more often.

It’s so real." "Most dreams are. It isn't until you wake up that you see all the plot holes.