Lucy Lennox amerikai

When you loved someone, you showed up regardless of whether or not they wanted you there.

I wondered if there was a place in hell for nurses who used the phrase “Just a little poke” before jabbing a needle into your skin.

“Don’t get me wrong, Tristan. You’re smoking hot. But you seem to have forgotten you’re straight. Not sure you could convince people you’re gay, let alone into me.”
“Dude, I can be gay. I can be SO gay,” I explained.

He was like my own giant ray of personal sunshine, and I wanted to bask in it long after we were done here.

“I like you all schmoopy. It’s cute.”
“Arghhh, not cute. Jesus, I’ve been gay for five minutes and now I’m acting cute. Next thing you know, I’m going to be bringing you flowers or some shit.”

True character being what you do when no one is watching.

If you ever find someone who’s bothered by the way you are, drop them in a skinny minute and look for someone else.

When it came to showing affection for Blue, I had never needed to pretend. The irony hit me hard: the only pretending I was doing now was pretending I wasn’t falling stupidly in love with a man I’d known for only a single day. The idea was so far fetched that I chastised myself for being overly dramatic. It wasn’t love. It was just lust. Horny, newly gay lust. Right. Because lust made you think of how to refit one of the barns into a welding studio. And lust made you happy the guy had loved your soup. Lust made you secretly thankful your dog adored the man more than anyone else. Lust. Just lust.

Finally, she began spouting off wolf jokes.
‘Hey Wolfe, I bet I can make you howl all night long,’ ‘He’s so fine, I could just Wolfe him right down,’ and something about wanting to be a sheep inside Wolfe’s clothing.
Then Granny yelled across the bar, ‘Tilly, stop crying Wolfe. That hunk can huff and puff and blow me any time he wants!’