“Red Sox looked around Jane at the patient, “Your mind reading coming back?”“With her? Sometimes?”“Huh. You getting anything from anyone else?”“Nope.”Red Sox repositioned his hat. “Well, ah…let me know if you pick up shit from me, k? There are some things that I’d prefer to keep private, feel me?”“Roger that. Although I can’t help it sometimes.”“Which is why I’m going to take up thinking about baseball when you’re around.”“Thank fuck you’re not a Yankees fan.”“Don’t use the Y-word. We’re in mixed company.”

“Thank fuck you're not a Yankees fan.""Don't use the Y-word. We're in mixed company.”

“I’m not going to let my insecurities keep me from having a good time. I think that if you don’t loose your self-consciousness, you can’t really be present in a situation. For example, if you’re at The Louvre, but you’re thinking about how much you hate your jeans, you’re not really at The Louvre. So in your memory, when you look back, you’re always going to be like, “I was wearing those jeans I hated”. And you’re not going to remember anything else.”

“I know I get crazy when it comes to you, but God knows I’m tryin’, Pidge. I don’t wanna screw this up.”“Then don’t.”“This is hard for me, ya know. I feel like any second you’re going to figure out what a piece of shit I am and leave me. When you were dancing last night, I saw a dozen different guys watching you. You go to the bar, and I see you thank that guy for your drink. Then that douchebag on the dance floor grabs you.”“You don’t see me throwing punches every time a girl talks to you. I can’t stay locked up in the apartment all the time. You’re going to have to get a handle on your temper.”“I will. I’ve never wanted a girlfriend before, Pigeon. I’m not used to feeling this way about someone…about anyone. If you’ll be patient with me, I swear I’ll get it figured out.”“Let’s get something straight; you’re not a piece of shit, you’re amazing. It doesn’t matter who buys me drinks, or who asks me to dance, or who flirts with me. I’m going home with you. You’ve asked me to trust you, and you don’t seem to trust me.”He frowned. “That’s not true.”“If you think I’m going to leave you for the next guy that comes along, then you don’t have much faith in me.”He tightened his grip. “I’m not good enough for you, Pidge. That doesn’t mean I don’t trust you, I’m just bracing for the inevitable.”“Don’t say that. When we’re alone, you’re perfect. We’re perfect. But then you let everyone else ruin it. I don’t expect a one-eighty, but you have to pick your battles. You can’t come out swinging every time someone looks at me.”He nodded. “I’ll do anything you want. Just…tell me you love me.”“You know I do.”“I need to hear you say it,” he said, his brows pulling together.“I love you,” I said, touching my lips to his. “Now quit being such a baby.”He laughed, crawling into the bed with me. We spent the next hour in the same spot under the covers, giggling and kissing, barely noticing when Kara returned from the shower.”

“All literary men are Red Sox fans - to be a Yankee fan in a literate society is to endanger your life.”

“From The Red Sox Reader:"The Yankees may have always had the better players, but the Red Sox always had the better writers.”