Listen and learn: you need fourteen characters, minimum. Use random letters, not words. Here’s a tip: think of a sentence, and use the first letter in each of those words. Mix it up between upper and lower case. Then pick two numbers that mean something to you – not dates – and stick them somewhere between the letters. Put a punctuation mark at the beginning of the password and then a symbol, like a dollar sign, at the end.
Nefarious. This is what we get when we hire a Yale boy.” “You missed sacrosanct earlier. And taciturn and glowering,” Jack said. “What’s glowering?” “Me, apparently.” Wilkins pointed. “Now that has to be a joke.” He turned to Davis. “You heard that, right?” Davis didn’t answer him, having spun his chair around to type something at his computer. “Let’s see what Google says… Ah – here it is. ‘Glowering: dark; showing a brooding ill humor.
Jack leaned over, “Ever get the impression that these women are way out of our league?” “I shot the last guy who said that to me.
Wow. Clearly, I need to find myself an ex-con. Since prison is probably the only place in this city I haven’t looked for Mr. Right yet.
What can I say? I’m a sucker for the shy, quiet types.
Hopefully when he moved his things out of the apartment, he at least took his CDs. I mean, we might be gay, but… Enya? Really?
I’ve licked stamps who were more excited than you by that kiss.
I think the first thing we need to talk about is you not running around in tight T-shirts and yoga pants.” “Fine. I’ll stop doing that as soon as you shave.” Jack ran his hand along his jaw and grinned. “You like the scruff, huh?” Did she ever.
He looked again. Longer this time. She may have ‘forgotten’ to put a bra on that morning. Another oops. “Are you kidding me with that?” he asked.
I don’t mind hot and spicy. Actually find that appealing in a girl … And chicken wings.” Rylann turned her head and stared at him. “Did you really just compare me to chicken wings?” “You say that like it’s a bad thing. Chicken wings are the bomb.
You don't touch the purse. The purse is sacrosanct.
My, my, aren’t we pushy . . .
I would've done it for you in a heartbeat.
I think that for him, I'd risk everything.” ~ Taylor
Life isn't always about logic and reasons—sometimes you just have to close your eyes and jump. Particularly when it comes to relationships.
I’m not sure I trust myself around you I liked you from the start, J.D. I really wish things had been different, that's all.
Sitting next to her, Amy was wide-eyed, mesmerized at the sight of Jack heading over in all his seemingly pissed-off-once-again glory. "I changed my mind, Cam. If this was all a big setup and he's coming over to strip for me, I think I can handle it. I definitely can handle it.
We're out of time, Payton. You said it yourself: the only way we'll make it is for us to go into this together. I know we can do this. But I need you to believe it. You need to believe... in us." Peyton didn't say anything for a long moment, and J.D. could literally hear his heart beating. Then she finally answered. "It would have to be called Kendall and Jameson." It took J.D a moment to catch on. Then he grinned. "No way. Jameson and Kendall. It's alphabetical." "You told our boss that you banged me on top of your desk." "Kendall and Jameson sounds great
My God, Jack - with a look like that, you two should just get a room. And try not to pick the one with a dead body next to it this time.
I invited a few people to help celebrate your birthday," Cameron said sheepishly. She threw up her hands. "Surprise." "We sort of come with the package," Collin explained. "Think of it as a collective gift from all of us to you: five bona fide annoying and overly intrusive new best friends." "It's the gift that keeps on giving," Wilkins said. Jack grinned. "I'm touched. Really. And since it appears I'm going to be moving in, let me be the first to say that all of you are always welcome at my and Cameron's house. Subject to a minimum of forty-eight hours prior notification.
It's a truth universally acknowledged that an FBI special agent in possession of great skill and talent is likely to engage in trash talk every now and then.
The shower trick. Let's hear it, Kendall
J.D. cleared his throat and pushed the button on the intercom. “Uh, Payton, hi. It’s J.D.” Dead silence. Then another crackle. “Sorry. Not interested.” Cute. But J.D. persisted. Again with the button. “I want to talk to you.” Crackle. “Ever hear of a telephone, asshole?” Okay, he probably deserved that.
Never send a boy to do a woman’s job, Irma.” - Payton Kendall
I love you,” she said softly. Jason's arms tightened around her. He grinned sleepily. “I know.” Taylor drifted off contentedly. Until through the darkness, she heard a low, sneaky whisper. “Mrs. Taylor Andrews . . .” She didn't bother to open her eyes. “Still not gonna happen.
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