Love Clichés, tome 1 : Falling for Your Best Friend's Twin

'Women are a treasure. A gift. What do you do with treasure?'
'Hoard it?' I’d asked, being a snarky fifteen-year-old.
Mom had smacked me on the arm, but she was smiling. 'No, Smaug. You protect it. You guard it. You always remember its value.'
I don’t know if Zoey got similar talks but for girls. Maybe Mom taught her to value herself or to watch out for greedy dragons trying to hoard women.

Zane is like a couch in a furniture showroom, perfectly pristine with throw pillows placed at exact right angles. I just want to jump up and down on it, or maybe kick off my shoes and take a nap.

Why is it that scowly guys are so hot? But I know why: Mr. Darcy. That Jane Austen created generations of women who want growly, grumpy men who are hiding a gooey, romantic center.

Loss is like that though. Even all these years later, sometimes the pain of it is like a sudden slap in the face.

When it hurts, but you want to fight through it anyway. That’s how you know it’s love. When you want to fight.