I sometimes forget that the woman beside me stared death in the face.

A too tight white shirt," she continued as though he hadn't interrupted, "strained across a great chest, really great biceps, and his head under the hood of the car, a little sweaty, a little messy, a lot handy.""You sound like a pimp.

If you really, truly can’t warn them about what’s coming, the best you can do is situate yourself in their life to support them when the pain comes. And you should probably prepare yourself.

But I can’t be mad at her for keeping her head on straight. I was the one who messed up. I broke the cardinal rule in this little game we’re playing: I went and forgot that it is a game.A mistake I have no intention of repeating.

Women don’t like secrets, Mulroney. Even the ones that we logically know are necessary. They break our heart.

I’ve tried being someone’s second choice. I can’t do it again.

Because you said you loved him. Because you deserve your fairy-tale ending. And because I’d do anything for you, Gracie Cooper. Even if it means letting you go.

Last night I was a scared little boy who thought I'd be happy with a quick lay and a few laughs over the occasional dinner.""And now?" she whispered.His fingers drifted over her cheek, a whisper of a touch. "Now I'm a man, spending a quiet evening with a woman I'm crazy about.

He laughs, and my heart hurts at the flood of memories. Of how we used to talk so easily, how we used to laugh so much . . .

Quit being a diva. Get over yourself. And for God’s sake, quit being such an antisocial loner before you end up lonely.