“He's gleeful to know something I don't. Which is annoying considering we're both aware that he knows everything about Parisian life, whereas I have the savvy of a chocolate croissant.”

“We’re both aware that he knows everything about Parisian life, whereas I have he savvy of a chocolate croissant.”

“I have the strangest feeling that he's aware of me as I am of him.”

“Just imagine! In the early nineteenth century, this cathedral was in such a state of disrepair that the city considered tearing it down. Luckily for us, Victor Hugo heard about the plans to destroy it and wrote The Hunchback of Notre-Dame to raise awareness of its glorious history. And, by golly, did it work! Parisians campaigned to save it, and the building was repaired and polished to the pristine state you find today.”

“The wind rattles the panes, and the lights buzz softly in the hall. He sleeps soundly.How long has it been since he's had a decent night's rest? There's another uncomfortable tug on my heart.Why do I care so much about him,and why do I wish I didn't? How can one person make me so confused all of the time?What is that? Is it lust? Or something else altogether? And is it even possible for me to feel this way about him without these feelings being reciprocated? He said that he liked me. He did.And even though he was drunk, he wouldn't have said it if there wasn't at least some truth to it. Right?I don't know.Like every time I'm with him,I don't know anything.He scoots closer to me in his sleep. His breath is warm against my neck.I don't know anything. He's so beautiful, so perfect. I wonder if he...if I...A ray of light glares into my eyes, and I squint,disoriented. Daylight. The red numbers on my clock read 11:27. Huh. Did I mean to sleep in? What day is it? And then I see the body in bed next to me.And I nearly jump out of my skin.So it wasn't a dream.His mouth is parted,and the sheets are kicked off.One of his hands rests on his stomach.His shirt has hiked up,and I can see his abdomen.My gaze is transfixed.Holy crap.I just slept with St. Clair.”

“That guys. Sideburns. You like him?"My back squirms. "You've asked me that before.""What I meant was," he says, flustered. "Your feelings haven't changed? Since you've been here?"It takes a moment to consider the question. "It's not a matter of how I feel," I say at last. "I'm interested, but ... I don't know if he's still interested in me."St. Clair edges closer. "Does he still call?""Yeah. I mean, not often. But yes.""Right. Right, well," he says, blinking. "There's your answer.”

“Cricket tells a joke and turns to see if I'm laughing, if I think he's funny, and I want him to know that I do think he's funny, and I want him to know that I'm glad he's my friend, and I want him to know that he has the biggest heart of anyone I've ever known. And I want to press my palm against his chest to feel it beat, to prove he's really here.”