Manca

“Does anyone actually love their job?”
“You’re too young to be that cynical.” He chuckles. “Did you at least like the people you worked with?”
“Not really,” I admit. To be honest, I can’t remember the last time I didn’t have to drag myself out of bed, or didn’t watch the hours pass. I loved the feeling that came as I switched off my computer and grabbed my coat each night.
“Maybe being forced out is a good thing, then.” He grins at me.
“Yeah. Maybe.”
― K.A. Tucker, The Simple Wild

“You’re too precious to put into words. I think … it’s like one of Theodore’s buttons. If you asked him why he cared about them so, he would tell you it’s because they exist at all.”
― T.J. Klune, The House in the Cerulean Sea

“I don’t want to talk about me. We never talk about you. I probably don’t know anything about you.

He laces his fingers into mine and rests our hands on his stomach. I move my fingertips in tiny circles and he sighs indulgently.

“Sure you do. Go on, list everything.”

“I know surface things. The color of your shirts. Your lovely blue eyes. You live on mints and make me look like a pig in comparison. You scare three-quarters of B and G employees absolutely senseless, but only because the other quarter haven’t met you yet.”

He smirks. “Such a bunch of delicate sissies.”

I keep ticking things off.

“You’ve got a pencil you use for secret purposes I think relate to me. You dry clean on alternate Fridays. The projector in the boardroom strains your eyes and gives you headaches. You’re good at using silence to scare the shit out of people. It’s your go-to strategy in meetings. You sit there and stare with your laser-eyes until your opponent crumbles.”

He remains silent.

“Oh, and you’re secretly a decent human being.”

“You definitely know more about me than anyone else.” I can feel a tension in him. When I look at his face, he looks shaken. My stalking has scared the ever-loving shit out of him. Unfortunately, the next thing I say sounds deranged.

I want to know what’s going on in your brain. I want to juice your head like a lemon.”
― Sally Thorne, The Hating Game

“I spot a little origami bird made of notepaper I once flicked at him during a meeting. It is balanced on the edge of the bookshelf.”
― Sally Thorne, The Hating Game