Hold everything. I missed a four-way chick fight. Then I find out someone's been nibbling." William's attention shifted to Olivia, who was still lying on the floor. "Please tell me our sweet little angel is the biter. It'll make me want her ever so much more.

This means nothing,” she said. “Less than nothing,” he lied. “I’ll hate myself later.” “I hate myself now.

My ex—may he soon discover tiny worms have invaded his body and are slowly eating him alive—once told me God made men so perfect because He'd wanted to make up for the inadequacies of women.

They were connected, one being, fused together. She belonged to him, and he to her.

Her hand fluttered over her heart. "Did you just say the word shopping without flinching?" "I did. So?" "So, that's gotta be a record. It's a worldwide fact men hate shopping." "How can I hate it when I've never done it?" Her lips curled into a slow, beautiful smile. "If you weren't already an angel, I'd dub you a saint. Poor guy. You have no idea what you're in for.

If your mom was here, she would flip her top over your grades." "Flip her lid," I muttered.

Don't kill the messenger, but I'm think you should change your dating profil to balding." -- Paris to William