Rachel

“Now, this is where I draw the line! It's bad enough everybody in town's going to be thinkin' I'm sleeping with a depressed, lice-ridden, hemorrhoidal foreigner who likes to be tied up and might be pregnant, although-since she's just about cornered the market on condoms-I don't know how that could have happened. But I will not-you listen to me, Emma!-I absolutely will not have anybody thinkin' a woman of mine needs a vaginal moisturizer, do you hear me?”
― Susan Elizabeth Phillips, Lady Be Good

“I thought you were a drunk."
"A drunk?"
"Bloodshot eyes, dirty clothes, getting home in the wee hours of the morning, making a lot of
noise, grouchy all the time as if you had a hangover… what else was I to think?"
He rubbed his face. "Sorry, I wasn't thinking. I should have showered, shaved, and dressed in a
suit before I came out to tell you that you were making enough noise to raise the dead.”
― Linda Howard, Mr. Perfect

“Did you eat my Twinkies?"
She gulped. Keeping her eyes glued to the whip, she said, "Exactly what Twinkies are we talking about?"
"The Twinkies in the cupboard over the sink. The only Twinkies in the trailer." His fingers convulsed around the coils of leather.
Oh, Lord, she thought. Flayed to death for a Twinkle.
"Well?"
"It, uh — it won't happen again, I promise you. But they didn't have any special marking on them, so there was no way I could tell they were yours." Her eyes remained riveted on the whip. "And normally I wouldn't have eaten them— I never eat junk food-—but I was hungry last night, and, well, when you think about it, you'll have to admit I did you a favor because they're clogging my arteries now instead of yours."
His voice was quiet. Too quiet. In her mind she heard the howl of a rampaging Cossack baying at a Russian moon. "Don't touch my Twinkies. Ever. If you want Twinkies, buy your own.”
― Susan Elizabeth Phillips, Kiss an Angel

“Then you remember the dream,” Mencheres stated. “That bodes ill.”
 
The fear of that made my reply snappy. “Hey, Walks Like An Egyptian, how about for once you drop the formal stuff and talk like you live in the twenty-first century?”
 
The shit’s gonna splatter, start buggin’, yo,” Mencheres responded instantly.
 
I stared at him, then burst out laughing, which was highly inappropriate considering the very grave warning he’d just conveyed.”
― Jeaniene Frost, Destined for an Early Grave