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354 pages, Paperback
First published January 5, 2014

"I smiled at him. “And you slept over. Again.” (…)
“You made me.”
“I don’t remember that.”
“Well,” he said. “You don’t remember very much. Do you? Jack, I’ll never let go,”, he mimicked.
“Oh god.”
“Never let go.”
“I don’t believe you,” I said, even though I totally believed him.
“Jack!” he mimicked.”
”No presents. Definitely no flowers. I’m not doing your laundry, making you cookies, or coming to your formal. Don’t ask me too,” I said. I cocked my head. “No dates. No romantic comedies. No sleep-overs. No saying I love you. No buying me drinks. No Valentine’s Day, nicknames, baby talk, chocolate, or Taylor Swit concerts.”







In terms of NA, this is as perfect as it gets!







"I'm a little bit of a disaster, Hadley."
"Then, you're my favorite disaster, Jack."
"He did it just fine," I said.
"No, he definitely did it wrong," he said. "Which is criminal. I could fix that though."
"Excuse me?"
He looked at me. "I mean, if I were so lucky as to have the chance to sleep with you, you would be, you know, impressed."
"You're extremely arrogant."
"Right back at you."
"How am I arrogant?"
"What kind of person gives sex one chance and decides it's not for them?"
"This kind."
It's funny how quickly you begin to talk yourself out of your own dreams.
"What? It's ridiculous. Control your emotions. Can you imagine if criminals went around saying they fell into hatred or jealousy and that's why they killed four people or robbed the bank? We act like love is this uncontrollable thing. But when it comes to anger and all that ugly stuff, we're expected to control it. We're supposed to handle those emotions without hurting anyone. But throw out the word 'love' and everyone thinks all the rules should go right out the window and who can help it if someone gets hurt?"
"You've Got Mail could only be the name of a romantic comedy in the 90s," I said. "The only thing I like about my inbox is the delete button."
David took a handful of popcorn. "You. Need. To. Get. Laid."
"I need to get a job." I said. "And a haircut. And new eyes. Have you seen this? My eyes are different sizes."
He looked at my eyes. "It's 'cause you're tired. So, close them. And stop talking. And go to sleep."
Nobody should drink alcohol at eleven in the morning. It's a recipe for disaster. Nigel was slurring his words by noon and David was trying to cut my hair and I was singing Ke$ha at the top of my lungs.
"What the fuck are you doing?" I demanded when he came at me with scissors.
"You need a haircut."
"No."
"Trust me."
"No."
He pouted. "But, Hadley, I'm dying to cut somebody's hair."
"Cut your own damn hair."
"You're scared that our third conversation will devolve? Into what? Silence? That would be awkward, but I bet we could survive it."
"I really don't have the time to date anyone right now," I said. That sounded believable. It was certainly true.
"Aw, I'm not going to give up that easily," he smiled. "You're the one who started it. You shouldn't have kissed me like that if you wanted to be left alone."
"I-"
"I'm going to swing by," he said adamantly. "We can hang out. That's a good idea. No dinner. Anti-date date."
"I mean, maybe."
"What are you doing tonight?"
"Nothing, but-"
"Great. I'll swing by tonight."
"No, I don't think you understand. I said dinner wasn't good for me."
"I thought you said dating wasn't good for you. We won't have dinner. It'll be a non-dinner, non-date hangout session."
"I don't even know what that means."
"I just want to talk to you," he said casually.
"Why?"
He laughed.
"What?"
"I think you're fascinating," he said, the same wry amusement coursing through his voice. "I'll stop by tonight." He hung up before I could say anything else.
"What are you doing next year?" I asked Jack.
"I'm going to try to find a way not to work," Jack said. "Which I'm actually pretty good at, so I don't foresee any problems."
"Nice."
"Good plan," Xander said sarcastically.
"I think it's a great plan," Jack said simply. "They always tell you to do what you love. And I love not working."
"I was ready to go. But you were all like stay," he whispered in a breathy imitation of me.
I laughed. "I was not."
"It was like when the Titanic was sinking and the redhead was all like, oh my god, I'm so cold, let's hold hands."
"It was not like that."
"Jack, never let go. I mean, what was I supposed to do?"
I rolled my eyes. "Yes. In my own bed." I kissed him briefly and he reached for my wrist. I held the book he'd given me in one hand and looked into his brown eyes. And I leaned in for another kiss.
I loved the way he kissed me. But this felt more serious, deeper and longer, and we held each other's eyes for a long moment before I cleared my throat and felt a flush rushing to my face.
"Are you seriously hurt?"
"Yes."
"What happened?"
"My knees went out."
"I made you weak at the knees?"
"I'm serious. It hurts," I growled.
"Alright, alright, alright," he said. "Hey!" He shouted to one of the instructors. "She hurt her leg. Can you..." They started running over and he looked back down at me. "Babe, can you stand up?"
Anyone who tells you that you should wait for that guy who makes you weak at the knees should be shot.
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--Stars!!!













"You're addicted to work."
"I am not addicted to anything." I tried to snatch the book back from him.
"You are. Work and caffeine and possibly sugar," he said mildly, leafing through the pages. "I mean, look at this. You learned how to speak a language in college. You want to know what I learned?"
"Theater?"
He arched an eyebrow. "How to roll a joint."
"They always tell you to do what you love. And I love not working."



”I’m a little bit of a disaster, Hadley.”
“Then, you’re my favorite disaster, Jack.”
“To fall in love with someone who couldn't be worse for me." He shook his head. "I mean, Jesus Christ. You've got a lot of rules. And I've got just about none. But if I had to come up with one it would be: don't sleep with the pretty girl headed for Syria in six months. And if you do sleep with her, be damned sure you don't fall in love with her. But here we are.”

You realize I am a library virgin, right?
















