Friends Without Benefits

Boy bands are sent by God to aid women of all ages in their quest to avoid reality, but specifically to trick young women into believing that males think about topics other than sex.

I've learned that the more people I love — and I mean really, really, completely, unconditionally love — the happier I am.

Sorry, sometimes when I try to rhyme I end up sounding like Yoda.

He was hot like lava and sexy like cake. Wait, like lava cake. Yum.

Italians who speak Italian should be illegal, or at least come with warning labels - may make your panties explode.

Road trips can either suck monkey balls or, with the right person, they can be awesomesauce with cheesy fries.

And, when it was time for Meg to give her statement, I punched her in the face.

Nico flinched and pain flickered within his green eyes. He struck the wall next to my head, causing me to jump. “I don’t want to be fair! I’m not interested in being nice! You’re right. I’m playing games with you and I’m playing dirty because I want you, I need you, to be with you, to hear your voice, your laugh, to hold you, to touch you . . .

Elizabeth, in your own misguided, crazy, PMSing-woman way, I think you’ve been trying to be nice.” My mouth fell open. “Hey!” “You’re just not very good at being nice. It’s not a strength of yours.” “I can’t believe you just said that.” “You should work on it. You should compliment me more, tell me I look pretty.” I hit him on the shoulder even as I laughed. “You’re an idiot.” “And you’re beautiful.

What are you!? A Disney princess?” Ashley’s annoyance powered semi-shout surprised the room. She dropped her knitting to her lap and glared at me, apparently sincerely perturbed by Janie’s revelation. “Get over yourself! We all have to fall in love more than once—even if it’s with the same person.

You have to know that I’m in love with you, you have to know that I’ve loved you since we were kids, since before I can remember.

You can’t tell me that I don’t know you. I see you. I see you better than you see yourself. And everything about you is beautiful.

Nothing is more frustrating than being attracted to someone who is a complete jerk – except for maybe also caring about that person despite continued abuses. I was such an idiot.

love was a choice that I was capable of making just as much as it was a risk I was capable of taking.

Well,” he abruptly broke the protracted silence. “Where can I kiss you?” What? “What?” He lifted his fingers to my face, tucked a few loose strands of hair behind my ears. “Where can I kiss you goodbye?” My stomach did a backflip, and I responded stupidly, “In the hall. . .?” “No, Elizabeth. That’s not what I meant. Where—on your body—am I allowed to kiss you? Where do your other friends kiss you?

I wasn’t a hypocrite—well, everyone is a hypocrite, but I was trying hard to be less of one.

I am of the opinion that women don’t really understand men. Most men, real men would do anything for the woman they love. When a man loves a woman enough to marry her, he loves her to the point of obsession. It’s the devotion of a male for his mate. He watches her sleep. He smells her clothes searching for her scent. He craves her admiration like a drug. He lives for her smile, for her laugh, and especially for her touch. Being needed—by his woman—is ecstasy for a man.

Four a whore does not you make.

I told your mother to have you call me. I didn’t want to invade your privacy if you didn’t want me to have your number.” His eyebrows jumped on his forehead and he closed the distance between us. “Well . . . from now on consider my privacy your privacy. You can call me anytime, okay? In fact, call me every day.” My eyes flickered to Quinn and Janie. I readjusted the pillow. “I’m not going to do that.” Nico shook his head; his eyes moved over my face with gentle deliberateness. “I wish you would.

In that moment the world tilted, and I completely lost control of my sex organs. Apparently my vagina, uterus, and ovaries were Italian and, when spoken to in Italian by Nico Manganiello, no longer belonged to me. I had no idea what he’d said. Just the sound, coming from his mouth – no lie – was the sexiest thing of all time.

Life is alphabet soup, Elizabeth. Eat that soup.” ***

Don’t give up on your alphabet.

I was looking at my past self through the one-way interrogation window of my current self, and it caused me to experience the strange sadness that accompanies helplessness. If only I could have told teenage Elizabeth that none of it actually mattered. It all seemed to matter so much at the time.

I can’t wait to taste you.” He whispered against my stomach, allowing his hot breath to spill over my chest, sharpen the goose bumps pricking my skin. “I’ve always wondered what you taste like.” I could tell he was speaking mostly to himself, but his words drove me a lot insane.

And looking like sex on a stick – if sex were Italian and the stick had an unfair amount of charisma.

I recognized him instantly even though the last time I saw him in person he was seventeen, naked, and asleep. I was sixteen, haphazardly dressed, and sneaking out his window.

When things are fantastic, it's hard not to expect that the worst is waiting to pounce on you from a dark corner.

I'd never made love with anyone but Nico. This thought occurred to me as we were lying in my bed, touching each other. Touching is the difference between making love and having sex. The physical act of making love expresses the desire to touch someone and to be touched in return. A hunger for your partner consumes you. It's an insatiable craving. It's a need for his skin, his hands, his mouth; it's a need to see his eyes. It must be fed every second or else it builds into something unmanageably urgent and ferocious.

I knew I wanted to be with her since before I knew how to eat with a fork. The wanting to touch her part started when I was four and she was three. Obviously it wasn’t sexual, that came later accompanied by the resentment of rejection. It was about being close to her, kissing her big cheeks, petting her soft skin, sharing her warmth. My earliest memory was thinking that I wanted her to stay with me always. My mother liked to remind me that I used to ask if we could keep her.