Both of you’ll just have to believe me. Emma’s one of those women who was born with… The thing is, the minute a heterosexual man looks at her, all he can think about is – well, her mouth, and – ” “Emma?” Torie’s own mouth gaped in astonishment. Patrick crossed his legs. “Maybe we’re not talking about the same person. British accent? Good appetite? Hums songs from The Lion King when she doesn’t think anybody’s listening?

Nobody else can demean me. I can only demean myself

He set the suitcases in the back then tossed her the keys. "You drive." She repressed a smile as she climbed behind the wheel. "With each passing day, your reasons for wanting a wife become clearer.

Now, this is where I draw the line! It's bad enough everybody in town's going to be thinkin' I'm sleeping with a depressed, lice-ridden, hemorrhoidal foreigner who likes to be tied up and might be pregnant, although-since she's just about cornered the market on condoms-I don't know how that could have happened. But I will not-you listen to me, Emma!-I absolutely will not have anybody thinkin' a woman of mine needs a vaginal moisturizer, do you hear me?

I take every opportunity I can to speak to librarians.

What are you gonna do, angel face? Stab me with your eyebrow pencil?

She gestured toward his very fine chest with her pencil. “On the off chance I find out after we’re married that your declaration of abiding love and devotion has been an elaborate con job perpetrated by you, Bodie, and Scary Spice…” He massaged her arch. “I definitely wouldn’t lose too much sleep over that.” “Just in case. You will give me all you worldly goods, shave your head, and leave the country.” “Deal.” “Plus, you have to hand out your Sox tickets so I can burn them in front of your eyes.