Personal Chemistry Quotes

“Ted deliberated this question while downing three espressos in the hotel lobby, letting the caffeine and vodka greet in his brain like fighting fish.”
― Jennifer Egan, A Visit from the Goon Squad

“I'd recognize his face anywhere. I used to see it in my nightmares. Though older, his features haven't changed: the same sculpted cheeks, square jaw, and bold, high-bridged nose. The same well-shaped lips that manage to appear both uncompromising and wonderfully soft. He still has a freckle at the corner of his right eye. On a woman it would be called a beauty mark. And yet this Macon is something entirely different--- willingly showing me pieces of himself that aren't perfect.
I want to ask him why his family weren't themselves, why he felt the need to play a part. But it's clear that regret for speaking too freely is creeping up on him, his gaze darting around as though he'd rather look at anything but me.
Wherever he wanted to or not, Macon gave up a private piece of himself. One that I doubt anyone has ever seen. I feel... humbled.”
― Kristen Callihan, Dear Enemy

“You're staring at my boobs." Her tone is wry but somehow not insulted.
"I am aware." I should be sorry, but I'm not. "I'm staring at your peachy butt, too, if we're being totally honest here."
"Macon."
I glance up at her. "Your body is fucking luscious, Delilah. Bitable in the best way possible. A juicy peach, a sweet apple covered in caramel. Do you know how much I'd kill for a caramel apple right now, Tot? And me stuck on this hell diet. It's a torment, I say."
"I don't think this is very professional," she says weakly.
"I should hope not." God, I love teasing her. Her whole body lights up when I do it. Foreplay. Does she realize that's what we're doing? "I was just thinking---"
"What did I say about you thinking?" she warns.
"They don't look like bananas now, Tot."
"Oh my God, you're terrible." But she's grinning now. Fighting damn hard not to show it, but definitely grinning.
"More like peaches. Ripe, juicy peaches."
She sways in my direction before catching herself doing it and shifting her weight. "You called my butt peachy." A dry complaint. "My boobs can't be peaches too."
Maybe I have a thing for peaches."
Somehow, we're only a foot apart, the space between us humming with something. It licks over my tender skin, tickles the back of my neck. Take it slow, Saint. She's skittish. Back off. My body resents this greatly and strains toward her warmth.
Her voice is a thread, drawn tight. "You're still staring."
"Paying proper respect," I amend quietly. "You don't ignore a body like yours. It would be rude."
"Pretty sure you have that backward." She's breathless now, her glorious breasts rising and falling with agitation.
I lean down, take in the warmth of her scent. "Come on, Tot. I've grown up, seen the error of my ways. Give me your bountiful banana pie."
Again she sways into my space, laughing softly. "Pervert. You're not getting any pie from me."
I hum, heat and need making my head swim. "But I have this craving."
She's whispering now. "Disappointment can be character building."
"I'll need my strength for that. How about peach pie?" Kiss me, Delilah. Or let me kiss you. I'm not picky.
The pulse at the base of her tanned neck visibly beats. The scent of her skin is like honey.
"I thought you wanted banana cream," she says, a dazed look in her eyes.
The tips of my fingers touch the collar of her shirt. "I don't think pie is what I want anymore.”
― Kristen Callihan, Dear Enemy