What is wrong with you? Many, many things.

How are you?" "Perfectly fine," he said. "Are your ribs broken?" "Probably not. Cracked at most. We fought very carefully." "Did this settle anything?" "It made me feel better," he said, sitting up. "Did you see me kick him in the kidneys?" "I saw.

On the plus side, if he ever had to fight through a roomful of adolescent girls, he only needed to blink (his velvet brown eyes framed in embarassingly long lashes) a few times, and they would all faint.

He said, 'Yeah, but will I get chicks? In truckloads?

You slept with Curran and you didn’t tell me? I’m your best friend.” “It didn’t come up.” “How disappointing for you.” Ha-ha. “That’s not what I meant.

My mind struggled to formulate a coherent though, any thought. I opened my mouth. "Your pajamas have Eeyore on them." "I like Eeyore. He's sensible. A sober outlook on life never hurt anyone.

I'm a substitute mom." "You're more like a crazy aunt who only gets called when somebody needs bailing out of jail.