You think he left a big flashing arrow pointing to a filing cabinet labeled 'Evidence Here!'? He's a Stray, Ethan, not Wile E. Coyote!

Talking. According to Marc, I could talk the color off a crayon.

... you just turned down the woman who put a marshmallow duck in your hot chocolate. I hope you feel like a real asshole now.

I grabbed another. Aerosmith. Nope, can’t throw classic Aerosmith. I snatched a copy of the Thompson Twins’ greatest hits and chucked it at him.

...don’t judge your future based on others’ mistakes.

I want to kiss you.” Jace’s whisper pulled me from my thoughts and I glanced up to find his eyes blazing with raw need. “Just because Marc won’t touch you doesn’t mean I shouldn’t. Right? I don’t have that kind of self-control, and honestly, I don’t see the point in it. Are you supposed to be impressed by how long we can go without touching you? ’Cause if that’s the game we’re playing, I think I’d rather lose.

Lit majors are not known for watching where they're going; most of us walk with our eyes in a book instead of on the path ahead.