Then she would be done with J. D. Jameson forever. No more having to prove herself; no more of those pesky jitters she felt whenever she saw him at work—something like butterflies in her stomach, it was actually quite annoying; no more stress; no more fights in the library; and definitely no more sexy I’m-gonna-kiss-you-now-woman blue-eyed heated gazes. She had no idea why she just thought that.

See you just don’t understand women the way I do J.D. They want it all: a career apple martinis financial independence great shoes but at the same time—and this they’ll never admit—they are drawn to patriarchal men who are dominant and controlling. That’s the essence of the Darcy complex. He may be an asshole but he’s an asshole that gets the girl in the end.

Did you just ask me out on a date, Ms Parker?” “No.” “Are you sure? Because I-” “Still no. I need something, and you’re the only guy who can give it to me.” She cut him off before he could even say the words. “Yes, thank you. I’m aware of how that sounded. I’m hanging up now.

I love you, Rylann." He cupped her face, peering down into her eyes. "And now I finally have a good answer to the one question everyone always asks me--why I hacked into Twitter. I didn't know it at the time... but I did it to find you again." She leaned into him, curling her fingers around his shirt. "That may be the best justification I've ever heard for committing a crime." She looked up at him, her eyes shining. "And I love you, too, you know.

It's a truth universally acknowledged that an FBI special agent in possession of great skill and talent is likely to engage in trash talk every now and then.

My, my, aren’t we pushy . . .

What can I say? I’m a sucker for the shy, quiet types.