J.D. cleared his throat and pushed the button on the intercom. “Uh, Payton, hi. It’s J.D.” Dead silence. Then another crackle. “Sorry. Not interested.” Cute. But J.D. persisted. Again with the button. “I want to talk to you.” Crackle. “Ever hear of a telephone, asshole?” Okay, he probably deserved that.

Well, Ma, see... there's this girl." Silence. He checked to make sure the call hadn't been dropped. "You still there, Ma?" A sniffle. "You can't be crying already," he said. "I haven't told you anything about her yet." "It doesn't matter, Nick," his mother said through her tears. "Those are the three words I've been waiting thirty-four years to hear.

Ever hear of a telephone, asshole?

It’s not the place that matters, It’s how good you are when you get there.” -Rylann

If we go now, there's no coming back. You're mine all night." Her eyes flashed. "Promise?" That was it. Jack grabbed her hand and pulled her off the dance floor, toward the main entrance of the tent.

Wow. Clearly, I need to find myself an ex-con. Since prison is probably the only place in this city I haven’t looked for Mr. Right yet.

You are not just a big-picture girl for me, Brooke Parker. You’re the only picture.