“Please, Tom. You can't ride your bicycle across the country alone. It's insane. You'll end up being slaughtered by a serial killer." "Taryn, I'm thiry-five, single, tattooed, and antisocial. I'M the serial killer.” — Ruthie Knox Copy Share Image
“Nice?” he said fiercely. “Nice is a lemonade stand.” He withdrew and thrust deep. “Nice is a picnic on the lawn. This is not—… — Ruthie Knox Copy Share Image
“After I left here on Saturday, I decided never to see you again.” He was sliding the frittata under the broiler, so she could… — Ruthie Knox Copy Share Image
“Was that some kind of romantic declaration, disguised as a filthy pirate sex offer?” — Ruthie Knox Copy Share Image
“Have you ever been with a man who d-did those things to you?” His voice had turned husky and dark. “Talked dirty to you?… — Ruthie Knox Copy Share Image
“The smile widened, and she decided it ought to be classified as a misdemeanor. Grinning with Intent to Discombobulate.” — Ruthie Knox Copy Share Image
“Sometimes I can’t think of anything but every wrong thing I’ve ever done.” — Ruthie Knox Copy Share Image
“I thought you didn’t sit,” she said. The dimple appeared. “The way I’ve worked it out, this is the closest thing to a first… — Ruthie Knox Copy Share Image
“I promise you, whatever we are together, it's not a mistake. It's too good to be a mistake.” — Ruthie Knox Copy Share Image
“Nev was the man in the parlor and the painter in his studio, the banker and the rugby player. The boyfriend who bought her… — Ruthie Knox Copy Share Image
“Just dinner,” Ben said. “And not some kind of perverted thing where I clock you on the head when your back is turned and… — Ruthie Knox Copy Share Image
“I’ve reformed. The kissing is sort of a holdover.” “Don’t reform. I like you bad.” — Ruthie Knox Copy Share Image
