What can I say? I’m a sucker for the shy, quiet types.
He maybe, possibly, said that if he got word of anyone getting in your way, they’d find out whether there was any truth to the rumor about him knowing how to kill a man with paper clips.
You’re tough when you need to be, and you can charm the pants off men who have three times your experience. Well, yes. Although I try not to take advantage of that too often. Very awkward negotiating with people who are sitting around in their underwear.
I heard this theory once that love means your subconscious is attracted to someone else’s subconscious.
You are not just a big-picture girl for me, Brooke Parker. You’re the only picture.
Some jobs required a certain level of detachment; a turning off of emotions in order to do the things that needed to be done.
That is nice, Mr. Morgan. Because in response to your tough-guy speech, I, in turn, would’ve had to give you my tough-girl speech, about where, exactly, federal prosecutors who come to my office looking for assistance can stick their obstruction of justice threats.
My God, Jack – with a look like that, you two should just get a room. And try not to pick the one with a dead body next to it this time.
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.
What exactly was your plan here, Mr. Andrews? To just walk in and flash your little smile, no questions asked?
The mighty have such simple weaknesses. I like to think it’s God’s way of keeping things fair.
It may have taken nine years, and a whole lot of wrong turns along the way, but their story felt complete at last. Because, finally, she was his.
Kyle had to give her credit; it took skill – plus no heart and a serious abuse of the English language – to break up with someone in fewer than 140 characters.
I don’t mind hot and spicy. Actually find that appealing in a girl. And chicken wings.
Because wine means the responsible part of the day is over.
Thank God she wasn’t still hanging out in her underpants.
He didn’t care whose league Jordan was in. All that mattered was that she was his.
More like a chocolate molten lava cake. A dessert so sinful, so luscious, so filled with inner heat it made a girl want to lick each and every crumb right off the plate. That was Jack Pallas.
It should’ve been illegal for a man to walk around like that without some sort of permit.
Frankly, the image of his father wearing bell-bottoms, smoking a joint, and calling his mother a “totally groovy chick” was wrong on so many levels he wanted to erase the whole thing from his memory.