It must be hard being you,” she said. “Mr. Perfect on the outside. Dr. Evil on the inside.” “It’s not that hard. The rest of the world isn’t as insightful as you.

She glared at him. "You're doing it again." "What?" "That thing that irritates me." "Smiling?" "Yes. That.

...I have to tell you that I'm not all that comfortable with the idea of spending the rest of my life sleeping next to somebody who's got the power to fire me if my underwear doesn't make it all the way to the hamper." She repressed a smile. "I'm sympathetic to your problem, but I'm not selling the team just so you can be a slob." "Somehow I didn't expect you would.

She gave Pretty Boy a surreptitious glance. Did he honestly expect her to believe he was gay? True, there were the gay boots and those stunning good looks. But, even so, he blasted enough heterosexual mega-wattage to light up the entire female population. Which he’d undoubtedly been doing since he shot out of the birth canal, glimpsed his reflection in the obstetrician’s eyeglasses, and gave the world a high five.

I finally figured out that not every crisis can be managed. As much as we want to keep ourselves safe, we can't protect ourselves from everything. If we want to embrace life, we also have to embrace chaos.

ignore the pain, play through it.

But even as she told herself that, she remembered the way Cal had looked today with his shirt off while he’d stood on the ladder and scraped the side of Annie’s house. Watching those muscles bunch and flex every time he moved had made her crazy and she’d finally grabbed his shirt, thrown it at him, and delivered a stern lecture on the depletion of the ozone layer and skin cancer.