“Hey, look at me! Look at me! Look at me! And...look at me. Will he think I'm sexy enough? Will he find me wholesome enough? Am I fuckable? Is he allergic to feathers?!”
“Look at me, man, look at me and tell me I don't know what I'm about. I'm Conor Larkin. I'm an Irishman and I've had enough.”
“He gave me a lot, but it would have never been enough.” He looks thoughtful as he gazes back down at me. “It would never have been enough,” he tells me,” because it would never have been you”
“In fact, when he wasn’t being a jerk, controlling or a pain in the ass, he looked at me…He looked at me…Oh hell, he looked at me like I was his life.”
“He gives me a look. I'm not even looking at him and I can feel it.”
“Speaking of - why the heck am I looking at his figure? My eyes snap up. Sure enough, he's looking, cocky little grin in place like he's God's gift to the female eye and he caught me praising the Lord.”