“Hold on.” Beckett shot out a hand, shoved Ryder back. “Are you saying Mom and Willy B are . . .”“That’s what I’m saying. And they have been for a couple years now.”“Fuck,” Ryder muttered.“Don’t say fuck when he’s telling us about Mom and Willy B. I don’t want that verb and those names together in my head.”

“So, you’re hitting on Clare the Fair.”“I’m not hitting on her. I’m exploring the possibility of seeing her on social terms.”“He’s hitting on her,” Owen said around a mouthful of chips. “You’ve still got that thing you had for her back in high school. Are you still writing bad song lyrics about heartbreak?”“Suck me. And they weren’t that bad.”“Yeah, they were,” Ryder disagreed. “But at least now we don’t have to listen to you playing your keyboard and howling them down the hall.”

“That dog'll roll in the snow, run in the snow, eat the damn snow, but he wont throught it to shit. I dont clear the path, he shits right by the door. Why is that? Ryder asked.Owen replied, "Hence the name."The name of Ryder's dog...Dumbass...”

“Ryder - the oldest, Avery continued. He's standing as job boss on this project. Owen's the detail guy, runs the numbers, makes the calls, takes the meetings. Or most of them. Beckett's an architect.”

“Told you not to tell her.”“That's not how I work things. That's not how you build a relationship.”“Build a relationship.” Ryder snorted as he sent the drill whirling again. “You've been reading again.”“Blow me.”

“Are you always so forthright over coffee dates?” “I don’t know. You’re the only one I ever had a crush on.” Oh, boy. “And that was stupid.” Flustered again, he raked his fingers through his hair. “Now I’ve scared you. That sounds scary and obsessive. Like I have an alter somewhere with your pictures over it, where I light candles and chant your name. Jesus! That’s even scarier. Run now. I won’t hold it against you.” She burst out laughing. Had to set her coffee back down before she slouched it over the rim. “I’ll stay if you swear you don’t have the alter.” “I don’t.” He swiped his finger in an X over his heart.”

“You need a place just a click over middle range. Don’t want to go all-out first time, but you don’t want to run on the cheap either. You want atmosphere, but not stuffy. A nice established place.”“Bob, you’re going to give me an ulcer.”“This is all ammunition, Cart. All ammo. You want to be able to order a nice bottle of wine. Oh, and after dinner, if she says how she doesn’t want dessert, you suggest she pick one and you’ll split it. Women love that. Sharing dessert’s sexy. Do not go on and on about your job over dinner. Certain death. Get her to talk about hers, and what she likes to do. Then—”“Should I be writing this down?”