C. Hoover

Love shouldn’t feel like added weight. It should make you feel as light as air.

That says a lot about our court system. I fucking come within six centimeters of killing a guy in cold blood, and I walk free because I tattle and claim a mental illness?
I fucking love the USA.

You hold a fucking door open for a girl, she automatically thinks you’re a gentleman. She thinks you’re the type of guy who would treat his mother like a queen. Girls see guys with manners and think there’s no way they could be dangerous.

“I’m sorry. My friend... He thinks he’s funny. Also likes to make my life hell.”

This is usually the point during introductions that one would reply with their own name,” she says.

Where the hell did this girl come from? And where the hell has she been all my life?

Every second I spend with him just makes two more seconds I want to spend with him

“Mmm,” she moans again, her sleepy voice breathless. “Carter.”

Asa and Sloan, happily ever fucking after.

Fuck my father and his bullshit philosophies on love

He shakes his head. “Is there anything not funny about you getting married, Asa?”

I laugh. And then I fuck up the left side of his face.

Fucking excess.