The Risk

Friends who say “I love you” every time you part ways are important. Those are the ones you need in your life.

Can’t change the past, don’t cry over the present, don’t stress about the future. It’s all pointless, especially regret.

Want to make out some more before we go?” Jake’s tone is boyishly hopeful. “Nope.” His gaze turns devilish. “How about a blowjob?” “Aw, I appreciate the offer, but I don’t have a penis.

A kiss, at its very core, is an emotional experience. Or at least it is for me. Anyone can give me an orgasm, but not everyone can touch my soul. One kiss can make me fall in love with someone.

Hockey is a game. You’re my life.

I am honestly starting to question evolution. We went from cavemen, to homo sapiens, to this incredible society of great minds—Alexander Graham Bell inventing telephones, Steve Jobs inventing…everything. And now we’re devolving. We’ve travelled back to cavemen, only nowadays we call them fuckboys.

Safe drive back to Boston, Connelly. I've been told before that the roads get really wet when it's raining.

Losing is not supposed to crush your confidence. It’s meant to build it.

We root for each other. We’re good for each other. And I can’t wait to find out what the future holds for us.

She loops her arms around my neck, wraps her legs around my hips, and clings to me like a monkey, and some happy part of my brain does flips and jumping jacks and fucking triple axels because this is my wife.

If you want me to beg, I’ll beg. If you want me to jump through hoops, bring them on. I’ll spend every waking hour until I have to report to training camp proving to you how much you mean to me.” His teeth dig into his lower lip. “Proving that I’m worthy of you.

Are you gonna talk to her after the game?” Hollis asks expectantly. “Or do we need to bring out a shotgun and—” “Relax, you don’t have to make me talk to her at gunpoint,” I say with a chuckle. “What?” His expression is puzzled. “I was going to say we’d clock you in the back of the head with the shotgun, knock some sense into you.” I turn to Fitzgerald, who shrugs and says, “His brain operates on a level us mortals can’t comprehend.

And don’t forget… If you mess with me, I mess right back.

So please just tell me how (to make you love me again) ... to fix this

Anyone can give me an orgasm, but not everyone can touch my soul. One kiss can make me fall in love with someone. I know it, because it happened once before. And that's why kissing scares me sometimes.

And that was like twenty years ago and you still hate him.” “So?” He pops up a cucumber slice into his mouth. “So don’t you think maybe it’s time to bury the hatchet?” “Can I bury it in his skull?

I’m going to lend you my good-luck charm,” I announce, holding up the tacky pink-and-purple bracelet. She gasps. “Seriously?” “Yup.

And then I head toward our little hut without setting her down on her feet. She’s still wrapped around me like ivy, happy and cozy and warm in my arms. Just where she belongs.

You are such a dumbass, Connelly. You made the biggest mistake of your dumbass life when you broke up with Brenna.” “I know.” “First of all, she’s gorgeous. It’s almost disgusting how gorgeous she is. She’s smart and witty and hilarious and—wait, what do you mean, ‘you know’?

Work hard and make your own dreams come true, he always harps, and then you won’t have to hope for a damn thing

Since I met you, you’re all I think about. I’m fucking smitten.

His brain operates on a level us mortals can’t comprehend.” Hollis looks pleased. “Dude, that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.

Oh, Daddy. You’re so strict.” “I’m not your daddy.” His lips curve again. “Though I could be if you want.” “Oh gross. I’m not calling you ‘Daddy’ in bed.

I was having sex with Chad Jensen’s daughter who I’m pretty sure I’m in love with.

She might be in Coby’s lap, but she only has eyes for me.

But the man I’m saying them to now? I have faith that he’ll always choose me, always choose us.

Sorry, Daddy.” He snickers mid-bite, a few crumbs flying out of his mouth. He picks up his napkin. “You’re not allowed to call me that in public.” Mischief dances in his green eyes. “Save it for later.

Trust me, she’s obsessed with me. Blows up my phone every day telling me how much she loves me. I think psychologists call that love-bombing.