Looking For The Perfect Guy Quotes

With a deliberate shrug, he stepped free of the hold on his shoulder. "Tell me something, boys," he drawled. "Do you wear that leather to turn each other on? I mean, is it a dick thing with you all?" Butch got slammed so hard against the door that his back teeth rattled.
The model shoved his perfect face into Butch's. "I'd watch your mouth, if I were you."
"Why bother, when you're keeping an eye on it for me? You gonna kiss me now?"
A growl like none Butch had ever heard came out of the guy.
"Okay, okay." The one who seemed the most normal came forward. "Back off, Rhage. Hey, come on. Let's relax."
It took a minute before the model let go.
"That's right. We're cool," Mr. Normal muttered, clapping his buddy on the back before looking at Butch. "Do yourself a favor and shut the hell up."
Butch shrugged. "Blondie's dying to get his hands on me. I can't help it."
The guy launched back at Butch, and Mr. Normal rolled his eyes, letting his friend go this time. The fist that came sailing at jaw level snapped Butch's head to one side. As the pain hit, Butch let his own rage fly. The fear for Beth, the pent-up hatred of these lowlifes, the frustration about his job, all of it came out of him. He tackled the bigger man, taking him down onto the floor. The guy was momentarily surprised, as if he hadn't expected Butch's speed or strength, and Butch took advantage of the hesitation. He clocked Blondie in the mouth as payback and then grabbed ~ J.R. Ward

By the time we reached the front door of the party house - a total mansion, like Harrison had said - Nathan was far behind us. Well, he'd promised to stay out of our hair.
"Wow," I heard Bailey gasp as the front door swung open for us, though I wasn't sure if that was her reaction to the freakishly large house or to the drop-dead-gorgeous guy standing in front of us.
"Good evening, ladies," he said, stepping aside to let us enter.
Automatically, I found myself standing up taller and sliding my shoulder blades back for optimum cleavage exposure. It was like a flirting reflex. I just wished I wasn't all sunburned. "Hello to you."
He grinned at me. A cocky, sexy grin. "I don't believe we've met," he said. He glanced at Bailey then. "Any of us. I'm sure I'd remember those pretty faces."
I swear, Bailey was blushing so hard I could feel the heat radiating from her body.
"Oh, you'd remember," I agreed, tossing back my hair and putting a hand on my hip. "I'm Whi - "
"Whitley!"
I jumped and spun around involuntarily. Harrison was standing beside me, looking thoroughly delighted. "Hello again, darling. You look gorgeous - and the lack of flip-flops is making my day. Those slingbacks are perfect!"
I nodded, glancing over my shoulder at the hot guy, but he'd already moved on and was chatting with a group of kids a few feet away. Goddamn it.
"Wesley is just so busy," Harrison said, following my gaze. "You have to give him credit ~ Kody Keplinger

Hey, Hiro," the black-and-white guy says, "you want to try some Snow Crash?"
A lot of people hang around in front of The Black Sun saying weird things. You
ignore them. But this gets Hiro's attention.
Oddity the first: The guy knows Hiro's name. But people have ways of getting
that information. It's probably nothing.
The second: This sounds like an offer from a drug pusher. Which would be normal
in front of a Reality bar. But this is the Metaverse. And you can't sell drugs
in the Metaverse, because you can't get high by looking at something.
The third: The name of the drug. Hiro's never heard of a drug called Snow Crash
before. That's not unusual -- a thousand new drugs get invented each year, and
each of them sells under half a dozen brand names.
But a "snow crash" is computer lingo. It means a system crash -- a bug -- at
such a fundamental level that it frags the part of the computer that controls
the electron beam in the monitor, making it spray wildly across the screen,
turning the perfect gridwork of pixels into a gyrating blizzard. Hiro has seen
it happen a million times. But it's a very peculiar name for a drug.
The thing that really gets Hiro's attention is his confidence. He has an
utterly calm, stolid presence. It's like talking to an asteroid. Which would
be okay if he were doing something that made the tiniest little bit of sense.
Hiro's trying to read some clues in the ~ Neal Stephenson

We all line up except for this guy in a wheelchair, Devyn. He smiles at me when I line up, introduces himself. He has a movie star smile, just white teeth and charisma, big eyes, dark skin. He'd be perfect looking if he didn't have such a large nose, but the truth is it looks good on him, natural and powerful. He winks at Issie, who blushes.
"You can do it, Is," he says.
She rolls her eyes, twists her lip, and says, "As long as I don't pass out."
"If you pass out, I'll put you in my lap and wheel you across the finish line," he says, and it somehow isn't sleazy because you can tell by his eyes how much he cares about Issie. I instantly like him.
She blushes worse. Her face looks like she's already sprinted a mile. ~ Carrie Jones

If you could be anyone else, who would you want to be?" I ask, because I've decided that I admire how David doesn't self-censor. I should try it too.

I think about this all the time. Waking up in the morning, looking in the mirror, and seeing someone wholly different staring back. These days I'd give anything to be the old me, the pre-accident me, who could sit at my old lunch table and chat about nothing. The pre-accident me who aspired to be more like Lauren Drucker, former benevolent ruler and social chair of Mapleview. I really wouldn't mind being entirely full of shit, so long as I didn't notice.

"There's this guy Trey who teaches me guitar," David says. "He kind of pisses me off, actually, but he's just the type of guy everyone likes. He always knows exactly what to say. Like has annoyingly pitch-perfect radio waves. So I guess him?"

"I used to want my metaphorical radio waves to play music that was, like, quirky but also perfectly curated, you know? Something cool. But now I feel like I've become traffic on the hour."

"You are so not traffic on the hour," he says, and to my dismay dabs at his chin with a napkin. "Though I wouldn't mind even being that. Reliable, informative, albeit repetitive. At least people actually listen to it."

"I think your signal is in Morse code," I say with a smile.

"When I was eight, I taught myself Morse code. The clicks are highly irritating."

I lean over and for n ~ Julie Buxbaum

Walter from Microsoft catches my eye. Here's a young guy with perfect teeth and clear skin and the kind of job you bother to write the alumni magazine about getting. You know he was too young to fight in any wars, and if his parents weren't divorced, his father was never home, and here he's looking at me with half my face clean shaved and half a leering bruise hidden in the dark. Blood shining on my lips. And maybe Walter's thinking about a meatless, pain-free potluck he went to last weekend or the ozone or the Earth's desperate need to stop cruel product testing on animals, but probably he's not. ~ Chuck Palahniuk