“So, Yara brings Brent home to meet her parents, and he ends up in the E.R.”

“Hey look, Yara, there’s someone driving the car.”“Ha, ha,” Cherie grumbled. “You two haven’t come upfor air since we picked Yara up from the airport.”“Circle the block,” Brent instructed. “I’m not donekissing her yet.”

“I leaned against Brent, resting my forehead against his cheek, but jerked back. "Brent you're hot."Brent grinned lazily and puffed up his chest. "Thank you. It's a burden I must bear.”

“I want a girl because I want to bring her up so that she shan't make the mistakes I've made. When I look back upon the girl I was I hate myself. But I never had a chance. I'm going to bring up my daughter so that she's free and can stand on her own feet. I´m not going to bring a child into the world, and love her, and bring her up, just so that some man may want to sleep with her so much that he's willing to provide her with board and lodging for the rest of her life.”

“Kids lose their trust in the parents they love, but still accept them, so they end up not trusting themselves anymore.”

“A few minutes after discovering we had a goal but no plan, Brent was laughing heartily at a pathetic joke I had made. It reminded me of the firstday on campus when I had thought his laughter sounded like a melody. It did now, even more so. It was music, beautiful, in a manly way, like asensual, slow jazz. I loved jazz.“Jazz, huh?” Brent asked, his voice suddenly husky.“Uh . . . what?”“My laugh reminds you of jazz? Is there anything about me you don’t find attractive?” He rubbed his hand over his lips trying to cover his smirk.“So tell me, how much do you love jazz?”I’m sure my face was pinker than the inside of a watermelon. “I didn’t say any of that.”“You didn’t have to say it, Yara, I could hear it.” Brent tapped the side of his head. “I can hear your thoughts.”“You’re not serious.”“Oh, but I am,” he said, completely straight-faced.”