I simply regard romantic comedies as a subgenre of sci-fi, in which the world created therein has different rules than my regular human world.
(Can human beings change? The humor, and the sadness, of remarriage comedies can be said to result from the fact that we have no good answer to that question.)
Sorry,” he said. “Let me drop the belt-“No.” She held on when he would have pulled away. “Don’t. I like it.” Again, he lifted her face, and he smiled. “The tool belt turns you on.” “No.” She closed her eyes and thunked her forehead to his chest. “Little bit.
Who’s there?”“The scratcher of your itch,” he said.She opened the door a crack and stuck her nose out. “Was that supposed to be romantic?
He couldn’t just come right out with it, could he? No, that would scare her off. He had to be subtle, build up to it. Explain himself. “I love you.” Of course, straight to the point was also an effective strategy.
Often you don’t know whether you’re the hero of a romantic comedy or the villain on a Lifetime special until the restraining order arrives.
I want you to know, chickens aren’t sexy. Not to me.”This was met with silence.“Are you there?” She was slurring her words now, which was embarrassing, so she took a deep breath. “Cam? Can you hear me?”“Yes, chickens aren’t sexy. Uh…I don’t think they’re meant to be.
Just leave me alone, I want to be alone,” she said when Jack tried to open the car door. She hit the lock, and wound the window up. Since the roof was down, it was a fairly pointless exercise.
Excuse me, your attention please.” He waited until the whole floor had stopped what it was doing and turned to face him. For a split second his impulse control kicked in, but by then his mouth was fully engaged. “For the record, Claire Marsden and I are not having sex.
There was a group of fans who wanted autographs, and several women who managed to write their phone numbers on Wade's hand before he pulled free.Sam sent him an arched brow, but he just shrugged. He got numbers written on him a lot; he'd never figured out how to stop that from happening.
Wait a minute,” Sandra said, sounding skeptical. “You were really stuck?”Things were starting to get worse.Her mouth dropped open and she began to laugh—the kind of laugh that would have been music to his ears if she were laughing with him and not at him.Things were definitely worse.
Being amongst rough lives and confusion does not make you less, it only makes your beauty shine out more clearly.
Sunny laughed. It's okay. You're right, Emma. My name is unusual, but I like to think of it as... special also.Special?Sam cocked his head as he studied Sunny. Almost all of her hair had escaped out of her ponytail now. She wore a baggy pink sweatshirt and had on the kind of drawstring plaid pants that would've set Bozo the Clown's heart pitter-pattering with envy. Her yellow tennis shoes were covered with dog hair.Yeah, special was one word for her.
Lui sta armeggiando in macchina cercando di liberare la piccola dalle cinture del seggiolino. La bimba sembra essersi svegliata, ma lui è bravo, le parla dolcemente e lei non piange e si lascia andare persino a un risolino.«Forse ci vorrebbe del latte» faccio io raggiungendoli, come se di bambini capissi tutto.«Yeah» risponde lui.Yeah?Poi annuisce e mi chiede cortesemente di prendere la borsa rosa che è in macchina. Obbedisco e trotterello dietro di lui in casa.Red, dall’alto del suo palco reale, segue la scena un po’ seccato e commenta con un miao altezzoso. Forse invidioso.Fuck you, Red.
He's reading a book called Great Warlocks of the 18th Century, and to get this ball rolling before Dean Devlin shows up and rains on our private parade, I snort and ask, Good book?I forget I'm pretending to be sitting behind my two-thousand-ninety-eight-page Highlights of Modern Chemistry book, so he snorts back. Better than yours.
Trina stared into her open kitchen cabinets. She was two and a half days into her pre-date-night ritual fast, and she was about to crack. Technically, she wasn’t going out on a date Saturday night, but Juliet was determined to have a man in her bed by the end of the evening. To be honest, Trina wasn’t really looking forward to tomorrow night’s manhunt. Sure, she was desperate for some hot monkey sex, but the thought of a one-night-stand was quickly losing its appeal. She wanted more than just plain, old sex. She wanted romance -- preferably with someone for whom she didn’t have to fast for three days to attract.
Tear filled eyes glisten in the firelight. She’s so fucking beautiful that it hurts to look at her, but it’s an ache I hope to feel for as long as I live, because the pain of losing her again...that I don’t think I’d survive.
You don't have to live in a mansion to be happy. All you need is to create the right space; something that says this is who you are, and you can always change who you are, just as you change your environment.
The Dictionary defines Soul Mate as: A person who is perfectly suited to another in temperament. Before I met mine, I didn't know I was bonkers!
He’s so fucking unconventionally perfect. I don’t know whether I want to kick him in the balls or lick his face.
I want to rip the rest of those buttons open and climb him like a monkey in a banana tree. Oh God, what I would do with his banana...
She’s not ready and maybe she never will be, but I won’t stop trying. I’ll be patient if it kills me. I can just see it now. Cooper Hebert died of blue balls and a broken heart.
You’re stupid. First of all, I need for you to know that.” “Uhhh, thanks?” “That is the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard. What could possibly be more romantic than the man of your dreams swooping in like a white knight? This is your fucking fairytale, bitch, and you’re about to let it slip away...” Gina growls in frustration. Add a note
I find blow jobs to be highly respectable. In fact, I can’t think of many things I respect more than your lips around my cock.
The fish is that perfect, amazing guy it can never work out with—you know, a bird and a fish may fall in love—but where would they live? . . . So the fish is your total dream guy, he’s smart, he’s handsome, he gets all your jokes, he loves to talk, he gives you a nine-hour orgasm and then makes you homemade chocolate chip pancakes and serves you breakfast in bed—but he lives all the way across the country and neither of you can move, or he’s married, or next in line for the throne, or he has a terminal disease or something . . . the fish.
Those ties...those ties are forever, and I never wanted to be connected to any other person so permanently. Forever was always meant for you and me, Spence.
I want the strings. I want the ball and fucking chain. I want to be so tied to you that you can’t ever slip away from me again.
You know that feeling when you’re suddenly startled out of a deep sleep, and you’re in that hazy middle world where you’re not sure what’s real—like maybe you actually could be chasing after an ice cream truck wearing only fishing waders and a canary yellow bridesmaid’s dress, or you’re just one answer away from winning a year’s supply of adult diapers on a Japanese game show?—SINGLE-MINDED
Men know that most women want to have an emotional connection with someone before they sleep with them. Men know that a lot of women think it's romantic to be friends first, and then the friendship blossoms into a relationship. Men know that they have to jump through all these hoops first, before they can get laid. And that's really all romance and courtship is to a man: hoops he has to jump through to get laid.