“I'm cool right? There's no lipstick left on me?" he asked, his smirk turning into a full-wated smile. "I love getting kissed by women who claim they don't love me - makes my dick hard as a motherfucker.”

“Love me?” Madeline asked with a faint smile. “It used to be love.” He brushed his lips over her closed eyelids. “Now there's no word for it.” “You once told me that you thought love was a weakness.” “I was wrong,” he whispered, kissing the corners of her mouth. “I've discovered it's my only strength.”

“And it totally depresses me, but the ladies eat it up. They love my father's books and they love his cable-knit sweaters and they love his bleachy smile and orangey tan. And they have turned him into a bestseller and a total dick.”

“I love...that elevator,” she said. With a sleepy smile and a full heart, he turned his head and kissed into her soft hair. “Aw, Red. I love that elevator, too.”

“I loved the solar smile he would turn on his friends at times--and on me--nonplussing us when he simply left it on us, full-beam, for such a long, long moment that we'd finally have no choice but to realize this was no social smile, no rote kind of friendliness: this was what it felt like to be completely seen and loved for a moment.”

“And my personal favorite, your lips." He smiled as a pink flush crept up my neck. "Full and sensual, puckered, and always turned down at the corners. They kind of make me want to kiss them until they smile.”