“I have no clue. I have ovaries; therefore, I repel all things mechanical.”
“Where did you get that dress?
I stole it from a homeless person," I say straight-faced. "She was lying right beside the stripper that gave you yours.”
“I pull away to speak, but he puts his finger over my lips. "Shhh, just let me love you, okay? Don't think. Just feel.”
“You sure? Because I specialize in deassholization."
This time she smiles. Deassholization?" "Yeah. Just think of me as the Orkin man of assholes--putting assholes in their place.”
“I'm beneath no man!" she replies harshly. Then, with a mischievous quirk to her mouth, she adds, "At least not without dinner and a drink first.”
“You’ve never ridden a motorcycle before?”
“Nope.”
“What kind of bad-boy girlfriend are you?” I ask in mock dismay.
“Evidently a terrible one.”
I swing onto the bike and grab my only helmet. “Nah, you just haven’t met the right bad-boy.”
“I shouldn't have stayed as long as I did, but I wanted to hold her while she slept. I wanted her to know I wasn't going anywhere. That she was safe with me. In my arms.”
“Are you paying me a compliment? I just want to be sure, so I don't miss it."
"You make it sound like I'm mean and horrible because I don't throw myself at your feet."
"You don't have to throw yourself at my feet. Although if you want, I'm sure I can think of something for you to do while you're down there.”
“Think with the big head, man! Think with the big head!”
“Ah-ha! I knew it! Penis problems”
“Well, it seems that the cause of some of my problems happens to have a penis. Well, two actually,”
“Oh sweet Mary! You’re dating a guy with two dicks?”
“Ginger, no! It’s about two different guys.”
“Oh,” she says, obviously disappointed. “Damn. That woulda been kinda cool.”
“But you don’t get social with your employees,” I remind him quietly.
“I’d made an exception for you.” His face is getting close and closer. Slowly. A centimetre at a time.
“But it’s your rule.”
“I’ll break it for you,” he whispers.
“No, don’t do that,” I say breathlessly.
“Fine, then you’re fired,” he says just as his lips meet mine.”
“So that's how you charm the cobra," I quip. He smiles devilishly. "If you really want to see what effect you have on my snake, I'd be happy to show you.”
“Hearing her laugh is like listening to the best kind of symphony.”
“I promise you won’t regret it. I promise to make you feel things and enjoy things you never even thought of before. I’ll make every night the best night of your life until you say it’s over.”
“In the meantime, get those penis problems fixed. Every hen house needs a cock, but only the special hens can handle more than one. Try 'em out then pick one and stick with it. You're not old enough to play with two toys at the same time. That's cougar territory.”
“His eyes meet mine and one brow rises in that holy mother of hell-sexy way, then he mutters, "You've got one chance to make my mouth water.”
“Is that what this is about? You think I'm sleeping with Taryn?"
"Of course I do! I'm sure it's no secret !"
"Why do you say that?"
"Well, first of all she's gorgeous and--"
"You're gorgeous."
"And she flirts very openly with you."
"I wish you'd flirt very openly with me.”
“He looks down at our joined hands. He rubs his thumbs over my knuckles. “I haven’t felt like I’ve had a real home in years.” Cash pauses and looks up, his eyes meeting mine. They are warm. They are sweet. They are sincere. “Until I met you. You feel like home. And that’s more important than anything else. You’re my home now. You’re what matters.”
“I stop in front of Olivia and cup her face in my hands, kissing her sweetly on the mouth. She looks up at me with her liquid eyes and something in me melts away. I think to myself that I hope it wasn't something important. Something that I needed.”
“If he’s the stripper, then who are you?”
“I’m Cash Davenport. I own the club.”
“I saw a special on the Discovery Channel.”
“You were watching the Discovery Channel?”
“Yes.”
“Um, why?”
“I lost the remote.”
“You lost the remote?”
“If you had a piece of coal, we could hold her down, shove it up her ass, and come collect a big, fat diamond in a few days.”
“You bring out the worst in me. What can I say?”
“That’s because you haven’t given me the chance to bring out the best in you.”
“What the hell do you want from me?”
“What are you trying to do to me?”
“Stop! Just stop!” he spits.
“Why? What else needs to be said? I think you’ve told me enough lies for a lifetime.”
“No more lies,” he says angrily. “I don’t even want to talk to you anymore. I just want to hear you tell me that you don’t feel anything for me. That you want me to leave you alone and never come back. Then I’ll go. If that’s what you really want, I’ll go.”
“Don’t. Please don’t say it.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want you to. I need you to come back to me. Not to help me. Or to help my father. I’m done with that. I don’t want your help. It all boils down to you. I just want you.”
“I just want you.”
“Okay.”
“I don’t remember agreeing to send you an honest stripper. Just a willing one.”
(Cash)”
“And this bad-boy boyfriend?”
“Bad boy?”
“Yeah. The type you apparently avoid now.”
Oh, right.” I laugh. It’s one single bark of bitterness. “Ummm, he fell into a wood chipper?”
“Poor guy. And the one before that?”
“Eaten by a shark?”
“And before that?”
“Kidnapped by a travelling circus?”
He chuckles. “Wow. Your life’s like a cautionary tale.”
“Future suitors be warned.”
“I’m willing to take my chances,” he says with a wink.”
“And when we are both satisfied and breathing heavily, Cash lays his forehead against mine and whispers, “Home.”
I think to myself that this is the very moment when I’m lost. Lost to Cash. Forever.”
“That’s pretty bad when my hormones can block out a homicide.”
“You worry too much. Can’t you just trust me?”
“I don’t know,” I answer him honestly.
He nods in acceptance. “You’ll learn to. I promise.”
And then he kisses me. It’s a slow, deep kiss that carries meaning and emotion, neither of which I know how to interpret.
I pull away to speak, but he puts his finger over my lips. “Shhh, just let me love you, okay? Don’t think. Just feel.”
“This question of grades being coercive, and of politics being inherent in teaching, applies not only to writing, but to all fields. Mathematics, science, economics, history, religion, are all just as deeply and necessarily political. To believe they’re not—to believe, for example, that science (or mathematics, economics, history, religion, and so forth: choose your poison) describes the world as it is, rather than acting as a filter that removes all information that does not fit the model and colors the information that remains—is in itself to take a position, one that is all the more powerful and dangerous because it is invisible to the one who holds it.”
“Athlete or not, I’m going to make sure you know how to read.”
“I wondered if there might be a difference between what you wanted to do yourself, even if you thought it was right, and what God wanted you to do. And how else could you find out what He wanted except by asking Him?”
“I see myself forever and ever as the ridiculous [person], the lonely soul, the wanderer, the restless frustrated artist, the [person] in love with love, always in search of the absolute, always seeking the unattainable.”
“We were not made for this killing thing, I swear. Back up. Big mistake.”
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