"Beautiful face. Beautiful body. Horrible attitude. It was the holy trinity of hot boys."
“Once I got home, though, and saw several packages on my front porch, all the crap from the day disappeared. A few had smiley faces on them. Squealing, I grabbed the boxes. Books were inside-- new release books I'd preordered weeks ago.”
“Thanks,” I muttered and added under my breath, “Douchebag.”
He laughed, deep and throaty. “Now that’s not very ladylike, Kittycat.”
I whipped around. “Don’t ever call me that,” I snapped.
“It’s better than calling someone a douchebag, isn’t it?” He pushed out the door. “This has been a stimulating visit. I’ll cherish it for a long time to come.”
Okay. That was it. “You know, you’re right. How wrong of me to call you a douchebag. Because a douchebag is too nice of a word for you,” I said, smiling sweetly. “You’re a dickhead.”
“A dickhead?” he repeated. “How charming.”
I flipped him off.”
“Holy Hawt Chemisty, Batman!”
“Am I glowing?"
"Like a Christmas tree."
"Not just the star?"
The bed moved a little, and I felt his hand brush my arm. "No. You're super bright. It's kind of like looking at the sun.”
“You’re such an ass. Has…anyone ever told you that?”
He flashed a genuinely amused smile. “Oh, Kitten, every single day of my blessed life.”