“He doesn’t get that I’m not interested in a superhero boyfriend. I’m going to be the superhero that can kick his ass from one end of Dublin to the other.”

“I’m not a superhero,” I say. It’s an awful tag. It’s egotistical, and it doesn’t fit. I don’t parade around in spandex.”

“Just because I’m on the lookout for an ass kicking doesn’t mean I’m actively seeking one out. It’s called covering all your bases.”

“I figure the folks that are the most interesting get to go to heaven. I mean, if I was God, that’s who I’d want there with me ... I’d rather be a superhero in hell than an angel in heaven. What the feck would I do all day if I wasn’t kicking demon ass?”

“Look, I’ve got her, I’m carrying her, and I’m taking her to the hospital. So you can back off and let me do what I’m going to do, or you can get your ass kicked and I’m still going to do what I’m going to do. Your choice.”

“I’m going to kick his ass for touching you,” he growls. “And for wrecking my bike.”“I’m glad I came first in that sentence.”“Baby, you always come first.”