Alice Clayton Quotes

She realized it wasn't about the wedding; it was about the marriage. Her. Him. Together. She got married barefoot because all she cared about was him. That guy. And the throw-up shoes weren't going to stop that from happening.

I'm a reasonably attractive young gal, great rack, nice legs, and never had any complaints in the sack. But I'd never been - cue sad music - in love before. And no one had ever been - cue sadder music - in love with me.

I observed the cowboy in his natural element. He liked to work with no shirt on, which seemed so perfectly right and not at all beefcake.

Spare no details-this shit is better than HBO.

Well, considering my entire life, now seems rules by odd coincidences, I figure it's right on track.

Did you just spit something?" he asked, sounding curious and amused ... "Never would have pegged you as a spitter, Vivian."
Eyes suddenly wide, I sat straight up, almost levitating from the bed, then rallied. "Only when it's something not worth swallowing."
Hello line, I believe I just crossed over you. I distinctly heard Clark choke on a sip of what I assumed was his Scotch.

Just trying to get a visual of you on the beach in Spain ...
How's that working out for you?
Pretty spiffy.
Spiffy? Did you just say spiffy?
I typed it actually. You got something against spiffy?

How do you make Wallbanger stop smirking? You kiss him.

I was harder to pin down, but I knew him when I saw him. Like the Supreme Court and pornography, I was aware.

Come into my Tahoe, Simon,

My mouth had sought his, and his had grown as eager as mine. There was no fairy-tale music, but there was something there. And it had quickly hardened against my thigh.

Grace does not share ice cream. She does, however, talk about herself in the third person.

Simon does commando. God bless America.

-"Wow,are we becoming friends?" I asked.
-"Hmmm ... friends." He appeared to think carefully and examined me and my state of blush.
"Yes, I think we are."
-"Interesting. From cockblocker to friend. Not bad." I giggled.

His eyes were on my behind. And when caught? Didn't even have the decency to blush. Naughty boy.

I'm waiting for the magic word." "Um, now?" "Really?" "Asshole?" "Come on." "Clark!" "Vivian." "Oh, fine. Please help me, Clark. Please, please, please?" I managed, gritting my teeth. "That wasn't so bad, was it?" he smiled, his face lighting up.

Truth or dare, you little shit.

Have to keep those lawns as green as possible, even when there was a drought, you know. Or my smile and nod when Mrs. Snodgrass went on and on about a racy book that everyone was talking about but no one would admit to reading, when in fact I know every woman there had read it. I even smiled and nodded when Mr. Peterson lectured us about illegal immigration, when I knew for a fact that his nanny was undocumented.

I'm hardly just someone. I think I rate a little higher than that,

So what do we do next? Y'know, as people in a relationship after they've solved a conflict."
"Pretty sure a blow job should follow this," he said seriously.

I felt a tap on my shoulder. I knew it was him. My skin told me.

We engaged in the random chitchat that people do, wrapped up in each other and looking at the stars.

Dicks didn't need to be inserted for it to be cheating.

Marry me." A statement. Not a question. It came again. "Marry. Me." His eyes burned into
mine. I breathed in, my ears ringing. My pulse sped up, my heart raced, I was trying to remember exactly what breathing meant. I was wet, and I was gasping.
"I want you. I want that, what they had today. I want it all, and I want it with you. I want you, want you to be my wife. I've got a ring, I'll give it to you right now if you'll say yes." With every
word, his hands tightened on my hips, desperate, crazy, longing. "I had this all planned out, so much smoother and romantic and everything you deserve. But my head's been spinning since
yesterday, when I saw my best friend steal a van to go meet his new family. And all I want, all I've ever wanted, is exactly that. Exactly you. And when I walked up those stairs, and heard the
shower go on, and knew you were in here all naked and wet and waiting for me, I knew I couldn't wait another day, another hour, another minute, without asking you to be my wife. So. Marry. Me."
He knelt. Christ on a crutch, he knelt on the shower floor, where he had knelt countless times before . . . ahem . . . took my hand, and repeated those words
again. Finally, with a question mark at the end. "Marry me?"
And in that moment, I realized all the worrying, all the hand wringing and wonder ponder, all the thoughts about who says what's right for a couple, and when is it too soon, and when is it the right time, and if it ain't b

With one lick, I was close. With a second lick, I was close to stupid.

Huh. Fancy meeting you here," I teased. "I recall telling you that I had a meeting with Holly this morning. Coincidence?" "Sheridan, that's rubbish. Are you insinuating that I only came here in the hopes of running into you? I happen to have had an appointment as well," he taunted. "That's crap, you stalker," I deadpanned, moving in closer to him. He raised an eyebrow, watching me.

You didn't really bring me beets, did you?" ...
"I did," he murmured, his thumbs sliding underneath my T-shirt the tiniest bit. "I brought mad beets."
"Oh man," I snorted ... "Did you bring me anything else?"
He brought his face back to mine, tinged with the slightest of blush. "I hesitate to say it now."
"What did you bring?" I asked his shaking shoulders.
He buried his head once again into my neck. "A really big zucchini ...

And a fire in the fireplace? Wow, that's impressive." I continued, walking backwards into the room.
"Yeah, I saw it in a book about how to woo women ... apparently you all like to be boinked in front of a roaring fire.

I fucking love you, you goddamned librarian.

I forgot a detail I read in your file. Won't happen again."
"My file?"
"You don't think I'd let my father hire someone to turn our entire world upside down and not do my due diligence to make sure she's qualified, do you?"
My eyes boggled. "A file. You've got a file on me. Wow."
"Wow?"
"Wow as in, dude, that's weird."
Now his eyes boggled. "Dude? Did you just call me dude?"
"Dude, I also called you weird. How did you miss that part?

But as close friends and lovers could be, there was something about belonging to someone completely that gave you roots--roots you sometimes needed when the world battled against you

You're here and I'm here and we're here and this is so much more than enough because it's everything.

Have you seen this guy yet?"
"Nope. My peephole is getting a workout, though."
"Glad to hear at least one hole is getting some action around here.

You gonna bang my walls, Simon?" I laughed.
"You have no idea," he promised.

E kissed me right on my gonna-see-God.

If I was going to have a life of air and nothing, I'd at least like a big fat dick to bounce on.

I don't care what you all think you want on paper. In reality, you're doing it all wrong.

Hi, pot. It's me, kettle," Sophia snapped back.
"Hi kettle, you have about thirty seconds before this pot kicks your ass.

She was giggling. She was a dirty, dirty giggler.

I love the shit out of you. So calm down and just tell me what you need. -Simon

He opened his mouth to speak, finally initiating conversation with me!
"'Sup, Viv?"
The man was a poet. I had no words. Strike that, I had one.
"'Sup?"
He grinned at me, and I swear on all that is holy a sunbeam broke through the clouds and shone directly on him, highlighting the planes of his exquisite face and letting me know that beauty had a name, and its name was Hank.

Ok, look. Whenever I hear people say that they felt 'sparks,' I usually think it's a load of poo. I mean, I have felt attraction to people, sure, and I have even felt some instant lust. But sparks? Please... Then he touched my skin. Sparks. Sparks. Sparks. Hot sparks. Flashing sparks. Lightning bolt sparks. J esus, Mary, and Joseph sparks.

We have to stop, this is insane. I literally cannot handle anymore. I think I've lost brain function. I can actually feel myself becoming stupid"
...
"Not possible. Let's test it. What's two times two?"
"Orange?

When there was pain or hurt, or bad memories crowded in, work could be a literal lifeline, taking your mind away from what you couldn't deal with and channeling it into something good, something tangible.

So if you think for a second I'm going to let you end this without giving me a legitimate reason, you are truly crazier than I thought. I'm in this thing with you, a willing participant, and you can't decide for both of us. Not anymore.

After about ten seconds, he inhaled and shook

But I wanted less. I wanted so very much less. And while there were tiny bubbles of "is this what you really want?" all along, I was in denial about it until about forty-five minutes ago. Pretty led to bicker, bicker led to divorce, and divorce led to bitter. I didn't want pretty, then separated. I didn't want bitter; I wanted forever. I wanted swoony, sparky, maddening, sexy love. And if we were going to fight, we'd fight, not bicker. Bickering's the worst.

He was wooing me. And I was letting him woo. I wanted the woo. I deserved the woo. I needed the wow that would surely follow the woo, but for now, the woo? It was whoa.

Why ride a cowboy when you can ride a librarian?

Be aware of the walls you build and what could be on the other side

What time was that email sent?" I asked, with my own cocky grin beginning to form across my face. Sara clicked around a few times and then said, "Two-oh-seven a.m." "Shit," Jack said quietyly while I laughed aloud. "I knew it! Your are so busted, Hamilton!" I cried. I was teasing him, but inwardly I was dancing like an imbecile.

Fucking Wallbanger," I hissed, frozed on the spot.
His grin slid off as well as he played place-the-face for a moment. "Fucking Pink Nightie Girl.

You smell like tequila and sexual repression, Caroline.

It breaks my heart the way young girls pick themselves over, never thinking they're good enough. You make sure you always remember, you're exactly the way you're supposed to be. Exactly. And anyone who says otherwise, well, poppycock.

Finally, I felt him, exactly where he was meant to be. Barely nudging inside, just the feeling of him entering me was earth-shattering. My own needs quieted for the moment, I watched his face as he began to press inside me for the first time. His eyes bore into mine as I cradled his face in my hands. He looked as though he wanted to say something, and I wondered. What words would we speak, what wonderfully loving things would we say to commemorate this moment?
"Hi."
"Hi.

Did you feel that?" he asked, concern crossing his face. "Yeah, I felt it. You too?" I answered, flirting back. "No, I mean, yes, obviously I felt that, but didn't you feel that hit your head?" he asked, beginning to grin broadly. "What are you talking about?" I asked, raising my hand up to my hair. "Oh, Jesus, Grace, a seagull just shit on your head," he stated, beginning to shake. "What?

You can't . . . know someone that long and suddenly know how to handle it when they just disappear from your life. You can't be with someone that long and not still feel the need to step in, to fight for them, to protect them.

Before I eat your bagel, we should be formally introduced, don't you think?

I started to roll my eyes, but that hurt. The right one was pressed so firmly against the peephole, you see.

Why do all men seem to think they need to rescue a woman? Are we not capable of rescuing our damn selves? Why do I need to be rescued? I don't need a man to rescue me, and I certainly don't need no wallbanging, Purina-fucking, listening-at-my-wall-like-a-goddamn-psycho coming over here to rescue me! You got that, mister?

I'm not interested in dating anyone right now. I just got here, and I'm dealing with some stuff-"
"Everybody's dealing with some stuff, darlin'. Sometimes it's just nice to deal with it while looking at a gorgeous hunk of man.

Oh please, like you don't know. You're bigger than a breadbox!

Did I arch my back when his gazes finally made it to my chest? Of course I did. And was rewarded with a nostril flare, the equivalent of a facial boner.

Her skin glowed, her hair was luxurious, her eyes sparkled, and her tits were even more fantastic.

My boyfriend likes to fuck my brains out on our kitchen island. Which tile would you recommend for that?

Hey, man, I'm old school. Don't make me bust out the Easy-E and the N.W.A I will got straight up gangsta on your ass. No one is more hardcore than a rich, suburban white girl.

You realize you are turning me into some kind of machine?" he noted, nodding down at his HiThere poking through the towel. Simon took the time to place his zucchini bread safely on the coffee table."How cute is that? It's like he's poking his head out from behind a curtain!" I clapped my hands."You may not be aware, but as a general rule, no man likes the word cute in the same sentence as his junk.

Can I get you anything? Water? Tea? Anything?"
I turned to face him, as he stepped inside. "No water, no tea, but there is one thing I'd like before I go to sleep," I purred, taking a few steps his way.
"What's that?"
"Goodnight kiss?"
His eyes darkened. "Oh, hell, is that all? That I can do." He closed the distance between us and slipped his arms easily around my waist.

The girl next door was meowing. What in the world was my neighbor packing to make that happen?

There was a hickey on the side of my neck the size of a quarter. I looked like I had argued with a Hoover and the Hoover won. Jesus.

Sometimes you have to pretend to be feeling better to actually feel better. It's why new workout clothes make you feel like you want to work out.

It wasn't sweet and tentative, it was pure carnal frustration spiked with incomprehensible lust and rolled into a giant ball of please-god-let-me-live-in-this-man's-mouth-for-the-foreseeable-future.

I got into Jillian's Mercedes and drove back across the bridge to wait for my art installation. Which never showed up. Hey, art installation? Suck my dick.

Prepare yourself, I'm taking bread out of the oven.
Don't tease me, woman ... zucchini? Cranberry orange.
Mmmm ... No woman has ever done breakfast bread foreplay the way you do.

Bring it on home, Wallbanger

So, how is the British invasion going? Has he invaded your hoohah yet?

The feeling of his skin against mine was perfection, and something I'd never experienced before. I felt worshipped.

Well, I drank enough to sustain a small Spanish village, I haven't had an orgasm in a thousand years, and I will probably die old and alone in a beautifully designed apartment with all of Clive's illegitimate children swarming around me ... How do you think I feel?

Was this Cowboy Hank? Oh my, yes, it was. Because his belt buckle told me so .

It was like pulling one loose thread on a sweater, and suddenly, poof, no sweater! And you're standing naked in a new hotel with terrible lighting.

My shirt bunched up around my waist, and the feeling of his hi-there against my hoohah was indescribable.

Are you out of your mind?The walls are not nearly as thick as your head.I can hear everything!Every spank, every meow,every giggle and I've had it!This shit ends now!

Fucking gorgeous man. And the best part? The way he looked at me. Like I was the prettiest girl in the room.
"Hey, baby."
The man was a poet.
"Hey."
I was too.

He shook his head. "You're a bit of a train wreck, aren't you?" I puffed a bit of hair away from my face. "Choo choo?

He pushed me back up against the door, slamming me against the doorbell. I heard it ring out.
"Coming!" I heard Holly say as she clicked across the floor to the front door.
"Not quite, but she's close." He chuckled, removing his hand and leaving me breathless and rosy cheeked.

OK snark, settle. You're telling me you don't have the tiniest crush on him? Tell the truth, Grace," she said, cornering me over by the dishwasher.
"I don't have a crush," I debated.
"Well, maybe I have half a crush. I have a 'cruh'," I admitted, giggling.
"But it's strickly Joshua inspired," I added, knowing that was not entirely true.

A minute. What the hell? Are you really entertaining the idea of a ... gulp ... relationship? And why the fuck did I actually think the word "gulp"? That was a little dramatic, Parker.

When you were in a long-distance relationship, of course you made the most of the time you were together. But sometimes, it was the unexpected that really made the difference. The unexpected emotions you were hit with when you saw that face, looked into those eyes, felt those lips. The unexpected reminder of why you fell in love with this person could hit you so powerfully. And this was that time.

Don't you see that I'm trying to do exactly that? How in the world can I grow up if I continue to do as I'm told, smiling and nodding like some pretty robot? What kind of a life is that?

Was I seriously awake at, let's see, one
sixteen a.m. and attempting to discern the national origin of
the woman getting plowed next door?

Dirty talk is an art. Do it too often, it becomes routine. Never do it, and you're missing something. Simon did it just right. He was like a perfect bowl of smutty porridge: just right.

I knew it wouldn't always be this easy. But it sure as hell would be a good time.

This is the heart I need. And if I have this - and a little schmaltz - I dont need anything else in the world

Caroline, my dear, you just got turned down by a man who once made a woman meow for thirty minutes straight. how do you feel?' the naked woman in the mirror asked me, turning my thumb into a little microphone. She gestured toward me, holding out her thumb. 'Well I drank enough wine to sustain a small Spanish village, I haven't had an orgasm in a thousand years, and I will probably die old and alone in a beautifully designed apartment with all of Clive's illegitimate children swarming around me... How do you think I feel?' I asked back, offering Mirror Caroline her thumb.

He is always Mr. Calm, Cool, and Collected. The only time he was remotely this excitable was when they announced they were making the Lord of the Rings movie.

Oh, look at that - tomatoes. Harvested by hand, from plants nurtured in perfectly tilled soil by perfectly bearded hipsters, in the land of organic milk and asshole honey, where everyone was happy and in tune with the earth, and the entire world narrowed down to slow, sustainable, and the concept du jour - local.
Fuck local. I'd fucked local, and look where it got me. Angry/not angry, listening/not listening for a phone call or text, feeling/not feeling overwhelmed, confused, betrayed, and slightly ... used?

I panted like a whore in church. The Church of Simon ... where I was dying to kneel before him.

It doesn't always have to be so hard. Sometimes falling in love just means turning around and seeing what's right in front of you.

I looked above the jeans. Vintage Fugazi concert tee. Green flannel shirt. 10. I looked above the flannel. Two weeks' worth of shaggy blond beard. Mmm. Country hipster. 11. I looked above the beard. Lips. 12. I looked at the lips. 13. I looked at the lips. 14. I looked at the lips. 15. COME ON. 16. I looked above the lips. 17. I was glad I looked above the lips. 18. The eyes and the hair were a package deal, the hair was falling across his eyes in a careless way that said "Hey, girl. I've got peas on my shoes, but who cares, because I've got these eyes and this hair, and it's pretty fucking great." 19. The hair was the color of tabbouleh. 20. His eyes were the color of . . . 21. Pickles? 22. Green beans? 23. No. Broccoli that had been steamed for exactly sixty seconds. Vibrant. Piercing.

But when you go weeks without that same 190 pounds in your bed, the truth is, it felt kind of nice to sleep underneath that. Or at least, off to the side just a little bit. I loved him, but I loved my kidneys too.