“Piece of cake. Or toast, in your case. I'll stuff your toast, baby.”

“You're serious?""As a heart attack."I set my bag down and leaned on the counter. Okay, Hunter Zaccadelli, you could make me dinner. "Stuffed French toast, sweet potato hash and strawberries and cream.""Breakfast for dinner? You rebel, you.”

“Do you have a red velvet cake?" "Of course," the waiter said, as if this was a ridiculous question. How dare I assume that they didn't have red velvet cake. The nerve.”

“You only play Pistol Annies when you're pissed, usually at me. I know your fake laugh from your real one. You have a great laugh, by the way. I know which shirts are your favorites, because they're the first ones you wear after you've done your laundry. You lick your bottom lip when you're trying to concentrate on your textbook reading. You cry during those commercials with the absurd animals when you think no one is looking. No, I don't know you at all.”

“It's not your job to save me...but I want you around.”

“I'd rather be your loser than some other girl's winner.”

“Subject: Not a chanceMissy,I accept your challenge, and may I remind you, that if you want me to leave you alone, there is that little bet we have going. Win it, and I'm gone.Impatiently (and nakedly) yours,Mr. Hunter Aaron Zaccadelli, esquire.P.S. Bring it on.”