“The only writer who gives me unfeigned pleasure is P.G. Wodehouse. And even him I find a bit heavy. He takes a lot out of me. Scratching my hair, with soft whistles, with lips aquiver, I frown over Sunset at Blandings.”

“My dad didn't find me - I found myself. So that's when I figured out that the only person who could take care of me was me.”

“I bit my lip to focus on the fact that he's actually giving me a plain answer to my question. He can't help it if his voice is mesmerizingly sexy”

“How are you feeling?"I leaned away from him. "Gross."Aiden frowned. "Gross?""I haven't brushed my teeth or washed my face in days. Don't come near me."He laughed. "Alex, come on.""Seriously, I'm gross." I put my hand over my mouth.Ignoring my protests, he leaned over and brushed my string hair back. "You're as beautiful as always, Alex."I stared at him. He must not get out much.”

“I don't have a lot of domestic instincts," Ranger said to me, his attention fixing on the unidentifiable glob in my hair, "but I have a real strong urge to take you home and hose you down."I went dry mouth. Connie bit into her lower lip, and Lula fanned herself with a file.”

“I tell him I take anti-depressants, which leads him on a thirty-minute detour. He tells me sadness is a part of finding out who you are. I tell him getting out of bed is also a part of finding out who you are. We agree to disagree.”