Elsie Silver

He looks like Cowboy Batman,” Rhett says.

Kip: Pick up your phone, you pretty motherfucker.
Rhett: You think I’m pretty?
Kip: I think you picking that one specific detail out of my text means you’re an idiot.
Rhett: But a pretty one?

Dad: Be safe. Don’t let that asshole in your pants.
Summer: I’m really more of a skirt gal.
Dad: -_-

A smile teased my dad’s lips as we all sat staring at Rhett Eaton’s broad shoulders and long hair. But definitely not his ass.
I’m a professional, after all.

Rhett: Please?
Kip: Don’t try to be polite. It doesn’t suit you.
Rhett: Suck a dick.
Kip: How do you think I’m keeping all your sponsors?

“Ever had raw farm milk?” he asks.
“No.”
“Okay. Well, it’s thick, and yellow, and fatty, and we had a cow growing up, and my dad would make us drink a glass of it every day, and I’m pretty sure it was borderline child abuse. Now, the thought of sitting down and just slugging back an entire glass . . .” He shudders. “I’ve never been happier than I was the day that cow died.”

There’s something about a man who is damn good at what he does that holds an appeal for me.

“All I heard was that you think I have a pretty face,” he says as he marches past me, rolling my suitcase behind himself.
“Of course, you missed the part about me wanting to kill you.”

Willa: Did you bang him yet?
Summer: Goodnight, Willa.
Willa: You only live once, you know. This is a story you could tell your kids one day.
Summer: What the fuck kind of stories do you plan on telling your children, Wils?

I’m an absolute whore for fancy lingerie.