“No doubt about it, Lawrence Decker was the reason God had invented nakedness.”

“That leaves Decker and what's his name, Mr. I'm Too Sexy for My Shirt.”

“I'll be careful."He looked at her."I promise.""Call me if you need me.""Cosmo."He turned to look at her."It does go both ways. I don't want to get a call from Tom Paoletti and Decker every Memorial Day.”

“Savannah, I’ve been talking my ass off for more than an hour now, telling you shit no one’s ever heard anything about, hoping that I’ll say something, Jesus God, anything that will convince you to have sex with me.”

“I’m not a big drinker and I’ve had enough secondhand smoke for this decade and the next, so . . .”Great. All she had to do was complain about the deafening volume of the music, and she might as well slap a sticker on her forehead saying old next to the one that already said nerd.“Band’s good, though,” she added. “Country’s not my thing, but the players are . . . proficient.” And great, now she sounded like a professor. Proficient. God.But he was nodding. “Country’s not my thing, either.”“But you have a cowboy hat,” she said, and as soon as the words left her lips, she realized how stupid she sounded, no—not that she sounded, but that she was.”

“Forget about writing to Penthouse.This one was going to be a story for their grandkids.”

“But she was quick to add, “I’m not saying I believe you’re related to Kid Gallagher—”“For the love,” I said, “of God . . . ”“Jamie,” A.J. interrupted her. “Not Kid. Jamie.”