Brooklynaire

hen I point my finger like a gun at Leo Trevi and cock the safety. “That’s it. That’s the whole show. Ask again and your luggage goes missing on the flight home.”
“Fuck,” he says, hopping down. And everybody laughs.

If not now, then when.”

Faith is the difference between the winner and the loser in every contest

“I trust you,” she argues.
“You trust me not to be a dick. You trust me with my dick.” She smiles. “But you don’t think you could love me.”

It is a truth universally acknowledged that I am something of a badass.

He makes a face like a little boy who doesn’t want to eat his broccoli.
“I’m pretty sure,” Rebecca hedges. Dinner with Bart isn’t her problem. Nate handles his own social stuff. Or Juliet does, maybe.