Art should look like art, trees and flowers and people, not weird shapes and splotches of color all smeared together.

They’d played “Sweet Home, Alabama” so many times I wanted to crash the party, kill the radio, and knife whoever was selecting the music.

Don’t make it a challenge. You know how much I like those.

Burn, baby, burn,” she muttered in a hard, satisfied voice. I cleared my throat. “As much as I hate to interrupt the supreme satisfaction you’re taking in watching the mansion blaze to the ground, I’d really like to get out of here before the whole house collapses on top of us.

Let him look," he whispered and kissed me again.

Logan Quinn was the kind of guy who could stab me in the eye with a freaking Twizzler.

This is an Aston Martin, Gin.You don't run over dead bodies in an Aston Matin." "Tell that to James Bond