Lisa Daily Quotes

I'd like to say I'm not dressed up for anyone in particular, but that would be a lie.

Well, that explains the dreamy accent. And why transvestites would make him feel homesick.
- SINGLE-MINDED

I linger too long in his embrace; the night is so warm, the rocking of the boat so lulling, I have to stop myself from swaying to the music. Daniel smells really good - a masculine cocktail of saltwater, citrus, and probably just full-on testosterone.

I'm probably getting too familiar with him, but there's something about him that makes me feel like I would tell him anything. He asks these incredibly direct questions, things that some of my closest friends have never even thought to ask, and I'm inexplicably compelled to share all these deeply personal thoughts. He's like human Xanax or something.

It's like I'm suddenly a hormonally charged teenager or living in a bad romance novel: I suddenly can't stop myself from noticing every man around me. Which means that Darcy, Samantha, and Michael are probably right. Plus, there was that disturbing dream about Voldemort this morning. I need to lose my gay-husband virginity before I lose my mind entirely. I need to find someone to sleep with me. And the fact that I don't have the faintest idea how to make that happen is just further proof that it needs to.
- SINGLE-MINDED

Dance, cher?" he asks, his blue eyes playful. I nod and he pulls me gently into his arms. He's warm. We sway to the music and the gentle rocking of the boat. His hand rests on the small of my back, in that sweet spot that makes you feel feminine and protected and adored all at once.

I rock in his arms under the stars and the blanket of night air, unwilling or unable to tear myself away.

Don't you worry, darlin'," he says, his intensely blue eyes full of mischief. "I like surprises

God, there's nothing sexier than a nice strong jawline and a movie-star-quality chin dimple. It's my own personal kryptonite.
- SINGLE-MINDED

One should not chug an entire glass of wine at an elegant dinner party. I start hacking and coughing, having practically water-boarded myself out of sheer humiliation.

He swims easily to the side of the boat and pulls himself up on the ladder, water droplets clinging to his chest and abs. Still hanging on to the rope, he brings himself effortlessly over the side of the railing and onto the deck. His khaki shorts are completely soaked through, and they hang low and loosely on his hips. I have to force myself, consciously, not to ogle him.

Do you have one where you're riding a horse or a camel? Or sitting on a rocket ship? Those are always wildly popular with men looking for sex.
- SINGLE-MINDED

He gently takes the lead, and I trail behind him up the narrow spiral stairway at the back of the kitchen. His hand is warm, and holding it feels like the easiest thing in the world. Too easy. I'm going to get myself in trouble.

But you'll never get a new ending if you keep starting with the same tired beginning.

I'm mesmerized by the way he speaks - New Orleans is pronounced N'awlins. When he says backyard, it's backyaaad. It's the kind of voice that makes you feel instantly at home, like you're a close friend or part of the inner circle.
- SINGLE-MINDED

He smiles, his palpable charisma pulling me in like low tide. Or riptide.