“His body was a freaking masterpiece that could easily turn any girl into a drooling sex addict.”

“What's a slut?" I ask him."A girl who puts out too easily.""Puts out what?" I imagine Greer putting out dinner and don't understand what Iwan wouldn't like about that."Puts out, you know..." His face, already beet red from our run, turns a darker scarlet. "Sex."I wonder where Greer puts the sex out.”

“And then he only had eyes for the pie. Watch any man, he could be ninety years old and drooling spit, but at the sight of homemade pie every last one of his wits will spring to attention.”

“My eyes flew open and when they did, his dark ones, not looking detached, not blank, not impassive, but heated and turned on and God, could it be? Totally freaking sexy.”

“We could easily have been abject strangers with no history of brief unsatisfying cinematic sex between us.”

“Love was something I would not have to worry about - the whole mystery of love, heartbreak songs, and family legends. Women who pined, men who went mad, people who forgot who they were and shamed themselves with need, wanting only to be loved by the one they loved. Love was a mystery. Love was a calamity. Love was a curse that had somehow skipped me, which was no doubt why I was so good at multiple-choice tests and memorizing poetry. Sex was a country I been dragged into as an unwilling girl - sex, and the madness of the body. For all that it could terrify and confuse me, sex was something I had assimilated. Sex was a game or a weapon or an addiction. Sex was familiar. But love - love was another country.”