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“How long have you done it?”
“Since the second day of B and G. The first day was a bit of a blur. I’ve always meant to compile some stats. Sorry. Saying it aloud sounds insane.”
“I wish I’d thought of doing it, if it makes you feel better. I’m equally insane.”
“You cracked the shirt code pretty quick.”
“Why do you even wear them in sequence?”
“I wanted to see if you noticed. And once you did notice, it pissed you off.”
“I’ve always noticed.”
“Yeah, I know.” He smiles, and I smile too. ”
― The Hating Game
“Since the second day of B and G. The first day was a bit of a blur. I’ve always meant to compile some stats. Sorry. Saying it aloud sounds insane.”
“I wish I’d thought of doing it, if it makes you feel better. I’m equally insane.”
“You cracked the shirt code pretty quick.”
“Why do you even wear them in sequence?”
“I wanted to see if you noticed. And once you did notice, it pissed you off.”
“I’ve always noticed.”
“Yeah, I know.” He smiles, and I smile too. ”
― The Hating Game
“Lucy,” is all he can seem to say. “Lucy. How am I going to walk away from tonight? Seriously. How?”
I get goosebumps. I’m wondering the same thing. I let my head drop to one side, and we kiss.
I’m hoarse and breathless. “I’m gonna die tonight. Please take your pants off.”
“I want that embroidered on a pillow.”
― The Hating Game
I get goosebumps. I’m wondering the same thing. I let my head drop to one side, and we kiss.
I’m hoarse and breathless. “I’m gonna die tonight. Please take your pants off.”
“I want that embroidered on a pillow.”
― The Hating Game
“So . . . how are we getting out of here? Do I still have to?"
"Yes. That thing over there"-he points as he unhooks my coat from the hanger-"is an elevator. You've been in it before. With me, in fact. I'll step you through the process."
"What if someone sees us?"
"You say that now? Lucinda, you're priceless."
I slap my keyboard to lock my computer, snatch my handbag and clatter after him. I try to tug my coat from his arm but he shakes his head and tuts. The elevator doors open and he tugs me in, his hand at my waist.
I turn to see Helene, leaning on her doorframe, her posture one of casual amusement. She then throws her head back and laughs in delight, clapping her hands together. He waves to Helene as the doors close.”
― The Hating Game
"Yes. That thing over there"-he points as he unhooks my coat from the hanger-"is an elevator. You've been in it before. With me, in fact. I'll step you through the process."
"What if someone sees us?"
"You say that now? Lucinda, you're priceless."
I slap my keyboard to lock my computer, snatch my handbag and clatter after him. I try to tug my coat from his arm but he shakes his head and tuts. The elevator doors open and he tugs me in, his hand at my waist.
I turn to see Helene, leaning on her doorframe, her posture one of casual amusement. She then throws her head back and laughs in delight, clapping her hands together. He waves to Helene as the doors close.”
― The Hating Game
“What is his deal? He always looks furious." Danny shakes his head at my notepad and we do a bit more business-miming.
"That's his face."
"You guys have a weird dynamic going on."
"There's no dynamic. No dynamic." I begin swigging at my coffee. It's too hot and a terrible idea.
"But you know he's in love with you, right?"
I inhale my huge mouthful and being to drown on dry land.”
― The Hating Game
"That's his face."
"You guys have a weird dynamic going on."
"There's no dynamic. No dynamic." I begin swigging at my coffee. It's too hot and a terrible idea.
"But you know he's in love with you, right?"
I inhale my huge mouthful and being to drown on dry land.”
― The Hating Game
“Well, well. Lucinda Hutton. One flexible little gal.” He is reclining in his chair again. Both feet are flat on the floor and they point at me like revolvers in a Wild West shootout.
“HR,” I clip at him. I’m losing this game and he knows it. Calling HR is virtually like tapping out. He picks up the pencil and presses the sharpened tip against the pad of his thumb. If a human could grin without moving their face, he just did it.”
― The Hating Game
“HR,” I clip at him. I’m losing this game and he knows it. Calling HR is virtually like tapping out. He picks up the pencil and presses the sharpened tip against the pad of his thumb. If a human could grin without moving their face, he just did it.”
― The Hating Game
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