“He said, 'Yeah, but will I get chicks? In truckloads?”

“Yeah, why would he want me to be crazy? Crazy chicks can't be all that much fun- well, except to themselves I suppose.”

“You know,” he said, “P.S.S. Piss Camp.” “Yeah, I get it,” I said, “It’s just not funny.”

“(“Yeah, work that mustache, you stud, chicks fucking dig the rapist look”)”

“Claire said. “I might be able to get him to stop.” “Who, crazy dude? Maybe. Or he might pull your head off,” Shane said. “I kind of worry.”She couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah?”“A little bit.”“That’s …nice.”He studied her, and returned the smile. “Yeah,” he said. “Kind of is, actually.”

“It isn't that it's too soon, you're on the back of my bike, it ain't too soon. You can buy sheets. You cannot install blinds." "um..." I mumbled. "Can you explain the difference?" "Sheets are chick territory," he said without delay. "You gotta use tools, that's dick territory." "Oh," I whispered. "Don't tread on dick territory," he advised. "So, um... is a paintbrush a tool?" I asked cautiously. "If you're paintin' the side of the house, yeah. If you're painting mud colored paint in a room, no." "It's terracotta," I said softly. "Whatever," he muttered, his mouth twitching. "Or, the paint chip called it Mexican horizon. The blue is dawn sky." "Definitely chick territory," Tate replied, losing the fight with his grin. "What about...pictures for the walls?" I asked. "Chick," he answered instantly. "Um...could I ask that, instead of you getting angry and being a jerk, maybe you give me a head's up when I'm doing something stupid?”