I’m resourceful,” she called after him.Resourceful, he thought, rinsing his hands with the ladle she’d left in the bucket. “A euphemism commonly used by successful criminals,” he called out to her.”If I were so successful,” she called back, “I wouldn’t be talking to you.
I'm sorry," I heard him say again. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a sudden blur of movement as he slid out of his seat, left some bills for the breakfast he wouldn't eat, and walked away. And as he did, I thought again of those mornings in the hallway at school, way back in ninth grade. Everything had started in such sharp detail, each aspect pronounced and clear. Obviously, endings were different. Harder to see, full of shapes that could be one thing or another, with all the things that you were once so sure of suddenly not familiar, if they were even recognizable at all.
It's nothing fancy, I opened a jar of sauce and cooked the linguine. But there's fresh Parmesan and I even found a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon.""You found wine." Earlier he'd been thinking about microwaved Who Hash, solitude and if he was very lucky, beer.But a hot, fresh-cooked meal? Candles? Wine? And a chatty yoga-elf chef? With a body like a Las Vegas showgirl?
She was licking something off the end of a wooden spoon. Red froze. His body reacted as if he'd walked in on her twirling half-naked on a pole....Frankie was intriguing. Unsettling. Challenging He wanted to figure her out. He wanted to play strip poker with her. He wanted to throw her on the couch and ---"A touch more oregano, I think." Frankie pointed the spoon at him.
Rory's big labradoodle made a snap judgement that Frankie was everything her life had been missing up until now. She flung herself into the girl's arms, wiggling and whining, a shaggy mass of chocolate-colored enthusiasm."Mistral likes you, I see." While he, the one who filled the dog's food dish, had gotten nothing but suspicious glances since he arrived two days earlier."of course you like me" she said, baby-talking into the dog's fur, "I'm extremely likeable."If the dog's expression was any indication, Frankie was about to get nominated for sainthood....She glanced at him. "Maybe she'd like you more if you weren't so... testosterone-y.""But then you might like me less
You should stop by the shop. I'll make you up a special Welcome-To-Marietta chocolate basket for Samara. She'll love it."Of course. He should have thought of it himself. "She's got this salted caramel thing that will earn you major points," said Dawson. "the ladies love it.""I shouldn't say this in church." Sage looked down, and dropped her voice to a whisper. "But it's been called orgasmic."With that word, for a split second, everyone around him disappeared. Logan imagined putting a tiny square of rich, smooth candy onto Samara's tongue, watching her lips move as she savored it, kissing her, sharing the sweet, silky heat. What sound would she make when the flavor hit the back of her mouth? Would she moan? Would she ask for more? "It's a gift that keeps on giving," added Dawson, waggling his eyebrows.
What do you think?" she asked, snapping him out of his reverie. "How am I doing?"...He squatted down beside her. "You did a good job."Their knees touched but instead of pulling away, Sam held her position, pressing ever so slightly against him."Really." Her voice took on a teasing tone. "Or are you just saying that because I'm a drywall virgin and you want me to have good memories about my first time?