“I don't like him," I explained. "He annoys the hell out of me ninety-six percent of the time, and sometimes I'd like nothing better than to strangle him to death. But at the same time I... I want him to be happy. I think about him way more than I should, and I -""You love him.”

“Because I want to see you with someone better than him. Someone who will see how lucky they are to have you.”

“I don't really do friends,' I told him.'Good,' he said. 'I don't want you to "do" me. We've established the flaws in that plan already...”

“And there was no way I could talk about it with Dad. Our version of "the talk" had been him clearing his throat awkwardly for about ten minutes straight as he attempted to explain to me the importance of condoms. I was fourteen, and, needless to say, it was an experience I never wanted to relive.”

“No rush. This time things were slow and earnest. This time I wasn't looking for an escape. This time it was about him. About me. About honesty and compassion and everything I'd never expected to find in Wesley Rush.”

“How would you know?" I demanded, splashing water in Harrison's face. "You were watching him, too.""Too!" he cried. "I got you! Ha. You just admitted you were watching him. You love him. You so love him.”

“I think about you much more than any self-respecting man would like to admit, and I'm insanely jealous of Tucker - something I never thought I'd say. Moving on after you is impossible. No other girl can keep me on my toes the way you can. No one else makes me WANT to embarrass myself by writing sappy letters like this one.Only you.”