“A year later we were in a coffee shop, the kind taking a last stand against Starbucks with its thrift-store chairs, vegan cookies, and over-promising teas with names like Serenity and Inner Peace. I was curled up with a stack of causes, trying to get in a few extra hours of work over the weekend, and Andrew sat with one hand gripping his mug, his nose in The New York Times; the two of us a parody of the yuppie couple of the new millennium. We sat silently that way, though there wasn't silence at all. On top of the typical coffee-shop sounds - the whir of an expresso machine, the click of the cash register, the bell above the door - Andrew was making his noises, an occasional snort at something he read in the paper, the jangle of his keys in his pocket, a sniffle since he was getting over a cold, a clearing of his throat. And as we sat there, all I could do was listen to those Andrew-specific noises, the rhythm of his breath, the in-out in-out, its low whistle. Snort. Jangle. Sniffle. Clear.Hypnotized. I wanted to buy his soundtrack. This must be what love is, I thought. Not wanting his noises to ever stop.”

“I miss the way he used to kiss my shoulder whenever it was bare and he was nearby. I miss how he cleared his throat before he took a sip of water and scratched his left arm with his right hand when he was nervous. I miss how he tucked my hair behind my ear when it came loose and took my temperature when I was sick or when he was bored. I miss his glasses on my nightstand. I miss watching him take Sunday afternoon naps on my couch, with the newspaper resting on his stomach like a blanket. How his hands stayed clasped, fingers intertwined, while he slept. I miss the cadence of his speech and the stupidity of his puns. I miss playing doctor when we made love, and even when we didn't. I miss his smell, like fresh laundry and honey (because of his shampoo) at his place. Fresh laundry and coconut (because of my shampoo) at mine. I miss that he used to force me to listen to French rap and would sing along in a horrible accent. I miss that he always said "I love you" when he hung up the phone with his sister, never shy or embarassed, regardless of who else was around. I miss that his ideal Friday night included a DVD, eating Chinese food right out of the carton, and cuddling on top of my duvet cover. I miss that he reread books from his childhood and then from mine. I miss that he was the only man that I have ever farted on, and with, freely. I miss that he understood that the holidays were hard for me and that he wanted me to never feel lonely.”

“Puck rolled his eyes. Holding out his hand, he gave me an encouraging smile. “Come on, Princess. Don’t want to get separated in here.” I clasped his hand, and he curled his fingers around mine. “Let’s go, then. Rusty can bring up the read. That way, if we’re jumped from behind, we won’t lose anything important.” I felt Ironhorse’s indignant snort as we entered the tunnel, and I pressed closer to Puck as the shadows closed in on us like grasping fingers. - Puck, Meghan Chase, and Ironhorse, page 152.”

“When we get off the plane, the fact that we are far from New York immediately becomes evident. Everything moves slower here; the change of pace feels something like relief. The Southern drawl has a laxative effect on Carl too, magically removing the stick from his ass.”

“For a moment, Jason could only stand there in the hallway with his nose pressed up against the cold wood of her door. After a few seconds, he knocked politely. Taylor whipped open the door, unamused. Jason grinned at her. “I just gotta ask: Where did you get the whole ‘all the cute girls run around naked’ thing?”“I defend sexual harassment cases, Mr. Andrews,” she replied coolly. "I’ve seen and heard things even you haven’t thought of.”“Care to test out that theory?”She slammed the door in his face again.”

“When he sat up, she gave a sigh and relaxed against the lounge, the exquisite torture over. His eyes crinkled. “You might not have noticed,” he said as if having a conversation in a coffee shop or something, “but last time I looked, women possess two breasts.”

“He sank to his knees. "I don't know how to handle this. I don't know what you want from me. Quoi tu veux," he murmured, over and over, until the whirring noise slowed and his fingers curled deep into the mud.~Remy”