“That hair-pulling thing he did really peeled my bananas.”

“He had this domineering way about him that totally ketchuped my tater tots—it was like he knew what I wanted more than I did.”

“Did you just wipe your nose on me?" he asked, finally.”

“The thing is, Iris, I've never liked the idea of compromise. In films and in stories people who love each other — really love each other — make horrendous sacrifices. They give kidneys they move across the world they die. Or become the undead because you know I like that sort of book. Basically the heroine's lover calls and she answers. Which is stupid. You know why ” Iris shook her head. “Because he's always fucking calling.”

“He chose to eat his tart off my thighs, which I think we both enjoyed.”

“I can always count on you to say something sexy,” he said. I blushed. “I know. I’m very smooth.” “You are smooth,” he murmured, leaning down to brush his lips against my forehead. “Smooth and soft and warm. I could touch you forever…”

“I don't know whether it's because I don't love him, or because I can't love him for demanding something like that from me. Or because he doesn't know me for squat. But I couldn't give him my whole life. And that's what he wanted from me. He wanted everything, and I wanted him to love me for what I had already offered.”