Good God, you don’t give up.” “Nope.” I laughed, couldn’t help it, and his smile spread in response to the sound. “I’m sure there are plenty of girls who want to go out on a date with you.” “There are.” “Wow. Modest aren’t you?” “Why should I be?” he shot back. “And I want to go out on a date with you. Not them.

Oh, honey, if he swung batter-batter for my team, I'd be all over that in a heartbeat.

I kind of missed the whole running into each other thing. Provided a lot of excitement." "I don't miss that," I admitted, bending over and rummaging through my bag for my notebook. "That was really embarrassing." "It shouldn't have been." "Easy for you to say. You're the one who got plowed. I was doing the plowing." Cam's mouth opened. Oh my God, did I really just say that? I had.

Did last night really happen?" One side of his lips tipped up, and my chest swelled. I'd missed that smile. "Depends on what you think happend." "I took my shirt off for you?" His eyes deepened. "Yes. Lovely moment.

Yeah, because when you’re attracted to someone, you actually enjoy kissing them and afterward, you don’t act like you kissed Adolf Hitler.

It was a Friday night, she was at a club, and a good-looking man was currently giving her the I-want-to-take-you-home-and-I-hope-I-last-longer-than-five-minutes look… and she was thinking about pie, a young adult book, and feeding her cat. She was so turning into the cat lady at twenty-seven. Sweet.

You were perfect – perfect for me – and I love you