He could never use you. You own him. You should’ve seen the way he was looking at you while you were out.”
I smiled a little. “How?”
“Like you’re the ocean and he’s desperate to drown.

You don’t get what you do for him. You’re like his manic pixie dream girl or something.” Jamie thought for a second. “Actually, more like his psychotic demon nightmare thing, but whatever. You get my point.

Ladies and gentlemen, Jamal Feldstein-Roth.”
I blinked. “Wait, Jamal?”
“Suck it,” he said with a grin. “My parents are liberal Jews from Long Island, okay? They wanted me to have a connection to my heritage.” Jamie made air quotes with his fingers.
“I’m not judging—my middle name is Amitra. I’m just surprised.”
“Amitra,” Noah amused. “Mystery solved.”
“What is that?” Jamie asked me.
“Sanskrit? Hindi?” I shrugged.
“Randomly?”
I shook my head. “My mom’s Indian.”
“What does that mean?” Jamie asked me.
“What does Jamal mean?” I asked him.
“Point taken.

You should’ve seen the way he was looking at you while you were out.”
I smiled a little. “How?”
“Like you’re the ocean and he’s desperate to drown.” 

Don't find peace. Find passion.

Jamie said in that voice of his, "You never saw us."
"I never saw you," the driver repeated, sounding dazed.
"You drove this astonishingly hot underwear model from south Texas. You wanted to lick his abs."
"I wanted to lick his abs."
"You're such an asshole," Stella muttered as she climbed out of the cab.