“The way his jeans hugged his cheeks drew me to him and made me feel warm.”

“If i opened the door would he be there? would he smile at me and show his dimples? Would his cheeks be scruffy because he needed a shave? Would he hug me? all i've wanted all these monthes was for him to be alive.But i'd seen him on the floor. i'd seen him in the coffin. And you can feel it when someone has died, you can feel that his soul is gone, just gone, the emptiness of his body.”

“What’s more, his faded old jeans hugged his ass perfectly as he stepped forward to toss a ring, and then they loosened as he stepped back. Hug, loosen, hug, loosen, hug, hug…hug…loosen. Jeans all perfectly rumpled right down to his dull, black boots. No doubt he chose those jeans specifically for their butt-hugging abilities. He probably practiced that hug-promoting movement in the mirror.”

“I loved every part of him. The smell of his skin, the scar on his cheek, the feel of his fingers pressing into my back. The way he could tell what I was thinking just by looking at me.”

“He tells me I look as if I could use a hugand i laugh at him and he ignores me and steps forward and puts his arms around me and hugs me. I warm at the simple pleasure of human contact and for the first time in a long time i actually feel good." (James Frey, pg.38)”

“But as his warmth soaks into me, and he hugs me tighter, I find myself hoping he'll never let go. I close my eyes and press my cheek against his, skin on skin.”