“Don’t you two dare say a thing,” she pointed a finger at us, straightening her skirt with the other hand. “Just bite your tongues.”“You look great, Lucinda.”“And you’re a liar and should have your mouth washed out with soap,” she tugged on the sleeves of her cardigan. “Nice pearls,” I pointed to her neck.“Didn’t I tell ya’ll to bite yer tongues,” Gram’s southern drawl became more pronounced when she was irritated.”

“Okay. Good point.” He’s very honest. I should ask how he is in bed. She slapped her hands over her mouth. “I didn’t just say that out loud again, did I?”"Yes, you did.”

“But here's something that I know about friendship: Sometimes the right thing to do is to not point out that your friend hasn't touched her chicken fingers or French fries and not point that maybe she's just overreacting. Instead, you just smile and sit with her and say, "I understand" when really, you don't understand her at all.”

“I pu my finger to her lips. "You have to hush a minute so that I can tell you something.""What?" she says, bites my finger.I look at her. "I love you."She gets quiet, the kind of quiet that sinks into her, softens her. "Well that works out," she finally says, her voice deeper and breathless, her eyes moist, "because I love you too." She turns, leans against my arm, and settles into me.”

“He stared at her neck. Realization pulsed. He was looking at the bite he had given her. A hard length was growing against her hip. “So, is that your long, scaly, reptilian tail, or are you just happy to see me?” No, she did not just say that. Did she?”

“Rob, do me a favour, tell your angry boss that I will see her and that when I do, I will be cleaning that mouth out and if she's lucky it'll be with my tongue.”