R.S. Grey Quotes

I'm borderline addicted to HGTV. It's not healthy.

My night was fine too," I volunteered. "Thanks for asking. I went to a strip club and then I robbed a bank with a bunch of strippers. We didn't take much, since y'know strippers don't tend to have many pockets.

How about I bring you a water and something else?" she insisted. "On me?"
What, like your vagina in a cup? Jesus.

If they wanted to slap my photo onto cereal boxes? Perfect. Leotards? Makes sense. Tampons? Sure, I'd go with the flow. (Ha.)

My eyes swept down to his soft black t-shirt that read: "don't do school, eat your drugs, stay in vegetables".

Who are you going swimming with?" Kinsley asked again.

"You're not supposed to end a sentence with a preposition," I replied.

"Stop changing the subject! With whom do you plan to swim?!

Hey, you," I snap at a waiter on his phone just outside the door. "Are those the coconut shrimp?" He nods dumbly, eyes wide at being caught slacking on the job. "Give them to me." "What?" He's scared. He looks around for a manager, but it's just us. "You heard me. Stuff them in my purse - now!" And that's how I leave Dr. Lopez's retirement party toting two dozen coconut shrimp.

Grey, R.S.. Hotshot Doc (pp. 55-56). Kindle Edition.

But who was I to deny my mom her thrills in life: keeping me alive, and now apparently making sure my food was flavorful.

I looked back down at the pitiful play-oven. It looked like revenge, if any was to be had, would at best be served half cooked and chewy.

She said she could so she did

Feelings dont have expiration dates.

Three months before I met you, I was looking for the next thrill, the next party, the next girl. And then I walked in and found you perched in my kitchen like the most beautifully confident creature I'd ever seen, and I knew you'd be a wildfire.

I don't possess the willpower for long-term grudges.

He seemed like the type that kept people at arm's length, maybe out of arrogance or maybe from personal choice- either way, I wanted to know him so that those eyes were narrowed and focused solely on me.

Oh my Liam Neeson. I've been taken!

Cheat on me once, shame on him. Cheat on me twice... what the actual fuck is going on?

The last thing I needed was for a horde of Justin Bieber fans to take over my Twitter feed with death threats.

In a black and white world, Chase and I would never end up together - our mothers had ensured that - but in that small bathroom, under the harsh fluorescent lights, we dragged each other deeper into the gray - the messy, guilt-ridden space that sat between right and wrong.

He'd helped us build a garden in our backyard and I'd forced him to watch a season of The Bachelor with me. (" Why does he not just buy more roses?")

Was I willing to glue on a vijay toupee for him?

Ha ha. Ian, c'mon, we need to focus or we won't have anything to tell the kids in the morning. So far we're just going to unroll a condom onto a banana - which, despite how common that seems to be in sex-ed pop culture, I've never actually done. What if it breaks? The boys will be turned off of safe sex forever.

When she smiled, the world smiled with her, and more than once, I found myself wishing I was the man she deserved to be with, the one she had come to Italy to find.

Nobody puts baby in a corner.

I haven't had time to have a real freak-out."
He shakes his head, determined. "I'm not going to give you time. Don't think. Oreos or M&Ms?"
"Oreos!"
"Summer or fall?!"
"Fall!"
"Tator tots or French fries?!"
"Both!"
"Do you want to marry me, yes or no?"
"YES!"
Then I jump across the car and kiss him so hard he falls back and crashes against the window. The kids in the rap car holler at us to get a room.

What exactly is a Rubik's Cube party?" Becca asked.

"It's simple: everyone wears different colors - red shirt, blue shorts, green socks, whatever - and once you get to the party, you have to swap clothes with people until you're wearing all of the same color."

Kinsley tsked. "Sounds like an excuse to see people in their skivvies."

I tossed my luggage onto my bed. "Yes, well, isn't that basically the meaning of life in the first place?

Maybe it was the masks or maybe it was Rio. There was something in the air, the promise of pleasure that made it impossible to stop. "You're

Why the hell was the nun dancing onstage?"

Because he's the love of my life. And he's my dog. Well,

The man's father runs the program for 30 years, steps down, and within a day his son's got the job? What is this, North Korea?

His hand had been resting two inches above my shorts. Which is about five inches above my vagina. So... yeah, he was basically touching my vagina.

He's met someone," she said during one of our Skype calls in my second year of medical school. "Another demon?" "I think he really likes her." "Watch out for a lobotomy scar, or the mark of the devil. It might be tucked beneath her hair." "They're coming home at Christmas so he can introduce her to our parents." "Hold a mirror up to her and see if she has a reflection." A

I'm not playing around with you, Kinsley. I want to be with you," he whispered in my ear before releasing my arm. I stumbled into the hallway, trying to gather my wits.

Georgie, have you gone insane?"
I smiled. "No, brother. All is well."
"Then why on Earth are you in Italy?"
"To find love, of course.

Adorably dysfunctional twenty-something seeks handsome veterinarian. Serious offers only.

Not so fast. I still have to shower."
"Why? Because you just worked out? Because you're still a little hot and sweaty and you have this masculine musk going on?"
He knows nothing. He is Jon Snow

Thank you, Josh. Thank you for ruining my capacity to trust so that any guy that comes after you will automatically have the cards stacked against him.

Dude! If you scream in my ear again I will punch you in the uterus.

sometimes the best way to get out of a slump is to get a good hump!" "Yes!

I didn't plan to be this dysfunctional at 27, but dysfunctionality has a way of creeping up on you. One second, you're 22, wrapping up your undergraduate degree from a top business school, and then suddenly, you're sitting alone in your car at 27, wondering how five years slipped trough your fingers without so much as a blink.

I held out the plate. "We made dinner and I figured you might want some."

His brows rose in shock. "What did you put in it?"

I groaned. "What is it with everyone thinking I'm trying to kill you?"

He smirked and I looked away.

"Obviously, if I wanted to kill you, I would do it in a much more painful way than poisoned eggs," I continued with a soft smile. "So eat it or throw it away. I don't care.

We're best friends, kissing the exact same way we do everything else; we take liberties, we go too far, we blur and redraw the borders of our comfort zones.

we end up stronger architects in the end. Like Spartan warriors.

The weight of his words threatened to undo the tiny string that tied my heart together.

On any given day, half of the subway cars smelled like urine, and attempting to get anywhere on time was nearly impossible. It was stressful to live in the city and I still hadn't found my niche, but I had dreams. One day when I'd paid off my massive pile of student loans and was working for Vogue, I'd move to the Upper East Side and get to experience the city in a whole new light.

So you're a stalker?" I asked with a hard stare.

He smirked, a knees-turning-to jelly kind of smirk. "I prefer gravitationally linked to your presence.

My gut says to go with you and it's yet to fail me." He smiled, brushing off my concerns so easily. Well that's because your gut is probably made up of rock hard abs; they wouldn't fail anyone.

Brie wasn't a woman that would try to fit whatever ideal mold I thought I had for a partner; she was a woman that shattered the mold and made me feel the excitement of young love again - the kind of love where you never know what to expect next and you can't wait to find out.

I'd gone down to meet Erik so I could surrender, and I had. I'd laid down my sword and armor, and in return, he'd stabbed me square in the chest. It was an ambush.

Oh! Hello Josephine!" he exclaimed, turning to face us. "Who is this oysgeputst mentsch with the pitse?" he whispered noisily in her ear. "Just a friend, Isaac. Goodnight!" "Friend of yours?" I asked as we hit the second floor landing and started up the next round of stairs. Jo turned over her shoulder and smiled. "He's a rabbi and sometimes I help feed his goldfish if he's running late. Did you know they have Kosher fish flakes?

He turns to look both ways before crossing the street. He doesn't do it because it's what his mother taught him - I know he's looking for me, ensuring i'm not waiting with a souped-up Ford Bronco, prepared to mow him down

Am I allowed to love you?

Nothing." That word held so much power: the power to deny someone your true feelings in a moment of vulnerability.

Fiiiine, but don't forget to use protection... you don't want your computer getting a virus,

got that dark, second-day stubble that gives him just the right amount of ruggedness. He looks like a perfect combination of a New York intellectual and a sexy Bear Grylls.

You've got Stockholm syndrome, girl. The man literally tortures you and you make him eggs?"
"Maybe she's poisoning it.

Ignore the tall, dark, and handsome vibe. Book boyfriends exist for a reason.

Hi! Hello! I'm Sam - Samantha Abrams. This is my fiancé, Ian Fletcher. OH MY GOD MY LAST NAME IS GOING TO BE FLETCHER! I'M NOT GOING TO BE FIRST IN ROLL CALL ANYMORE!

Italians all seemed to believe that a few drinks and a good meal would cure any ill. Fat chance.

The guy was sexy with a capital S-E-X-Y. Yes, that's right, all of his letters deserved to be capitalized.

His cologne was practically hijacking my ovulation cycle and I had to fight the urge to let my face collapse onto his shirt and inhale.

The harder the shell, the softer the heart.

I know, I know. They should make a hallmark card for that experience since it's so cliché: "Whoops, sorry your high school boyfriend can't keep it in his pants… here's a cute puppy wearing a bowtie.

I feel like shit that has come to life, eaten some other shit, then shat out more shit.

I stood in the center of the Pantheon under the massive oculus, boiling. It was noon and the sun was right overhead, blinding everyone in the room.
"Not incredibly practical to cut a hole in the roof if you ask me," I deadpanned to the ten-year-old beside me.
She sighed heavily and rolled her eyes, walking away with Architecture of the Italian Renaissance shoved underneath her arm. Very cultured, these kids today.

You're mine and you don't even know it. I've never told you.

Drunk minds speak sober thoughts, right?

He was the northern star. I had no choice but to become enveloped in his brightness and let it coax me toward him. Wanting him was an unconscious impulse, like taking my next breath.

You should know I never intended to fall in love again. I never imagined I'd have a reason to move on, and when you came along, I wasn't prepared. I didn't know how to handle you. You were… a lot to take in at once. I tried to keep my wall up, but you blew right past it."
She grinned.
"Tramontana." Her Italian accent had improved dramatically.
"Exactly." I leaned forward and cupped her cheek, stroking my thumb across her skin. "You're the woman I love now, Georgie. The only woman.

Cue dream sequence of Liam running slowly on a beach carrying me in his arms. I love how he's strong enough to carry me with one arm while using the other arm to feed the seagulls. He's such an animal lover like that.

Room service."
YES. My milkshake! I shove Ian out of the way and run for the door. "Oh, and PS, I'm not sharing my dessert."
"Even with your husband?" he asks, dipping into the bathroom to turn on the shower.
HUSBAND! My heart skips a beat. My stomach, however, does not.
"Cute." I smile. "But no.

YES. My milkshake!" title="R.S. Grey Quotes: Room service."
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You know I'm in love with you, right?

Little did they know I wasn't above backing over nasty reporters. Spoiler: the rest of this story takes place from a jail cell.

Oh, oops, how'd we get into this adorable position? Strategic planing, my friend.

If only she and I could shut up for ten minutes, the sex would be the best of our lives. Angry. Hard. Fast. Not love. Not even close. War.

Some things are out of your control, but not your breath, so breathe in with me, okay?

Kinsley Grace Bryant, you crazy beautiful loon, marry me so we can make hundreds of little soccer prodigies.

We're all consumed with the petty drama, the minor stuff settled right up at the top, like roses and trash. Not many people realize how easy it is to dig a little deeper.

I guess you need your privacy if you've got the Tinder Train rolling in every night.

Rosie perked up and clapped excitedly. "When I was younger, the older girls in our gym kidnapped us from our houses in the middle of the night and took us to IHOP." She beamed. "All-you-can-eat pancakes."

Lexi leveled her with a glare. "How has life failed you so miserably?"

"It was fun," she said, defending herself. "I had whipped cream on mine."

Oh Rosie.

I'm standing up for myself. That's all."

"Mmhmm. Remind me, after Rosa Parks stuck it to that bus driver, did she bake him a soufflé?

Does your cockiness have a dimmer switch or is it always set to 'high'?

His short hair is damp and a few strands are plastered to his forehead. His eyes are bluer than blue when he assesses me coolly.
"Ready for me?"
DEAR GOD YES.

He bent down so I could hear him over the music. "What are you doing here?" he asked with a hard tone.

Okay. Not the best first line. Something like, you look beautiful, have my babies would have been a little bit better.

We have grand visions of our lives because we assume we are the center of the universe while in reality, the universe doesn't even realize we're there.

That's not surprising to hear. Your daughter is definitely in love with me, Mrs. Bryant. She hasn't told me yet, but she will soon.

You'll never get anywhere by staying in your comfort zone!!

I've grown… accustomed to you."

Jesus. Did those words actually just leave my mouth?

She groaned and squeezed her eyes closed. "Oh god, Erik. Did you just give me the My Fair Lady treatment?

If the Sons of Anarchy were based in California, the Grandpas of Anarchy must've headed north to Seattle.

Being alone with him was a bad idea, like playing around water when you can't swim.

In a straight up movie montage scene, ten things happened around me at once: someone pulled the broom from my hand, another person ripped the shirt off my head, a measuring tape appeared around my boobs, and two women crouched down in front of my legs. HEYO. "Nice tits," one assistant said as she finished measuring my chest. "Uhh, thanks," I replied as she ran in the opposite direction, having acquired the measurement she needed. "Is this your natural color?" a hairstylist asked as she ripped the hat and ponytail from my head.

The morning light played up his hazel eyes and for a moment I was caught in his allure. The dark brows, the dark hair, the tan skin. A weaker woman would have thrown herself at him a long time ago.

When I was with him, there were no consequences

The scene we stepped into was straight out of 50 Shades of Grey - Geriatric Edition.

Kinsley, I'v never liked any girl more than I like M&Ms."
"Am I getting close?" I joked.
"I'd say I like you more than regular M&Ms, but you're going to have to really step it up if you want to beat out peanut M&Ms.

they taught me that there was value in trying to fix something even when everyone else has given up.

Is this your idea of a joke?" she whispered as Mr. Jenkins stood to begin that day's lesson. I pulled out my notebook and shook my head. "No joke. My plan is to win you back one physics problem at a time." Connor laughed. "Does this make me Jacob?

Those barbaric contraptions at the gym intimidate me. I once sprained my wrist trying to change the amount of weight resistance on a rowing machine, and have you seen all the different strap, rope, and handle attachments for the cable machine? Half of them look like sex toys for horses.

The morning after I'd dumped the Easy-Bake Oven on the guesthouse porch, I'd walked out of my front door and nearly tripped on the box on the way to my truck. She'd returned it with a butter knife sticking through the side, and despite myself, I smiled.

Our lips melted together as he kissed me. Hard. Aggressive. Impatient. If kisses could kill, ours would have.

I knew it was loads easier to crumble under the weight of grief than it was to stand up with it on your back, but every day you carry it forward you get stronger and stronger, and eventually it doesn't feel as heavy as it once did.