"It's a peace offering. Get it? Piece of cake. Peace offering?"

A ceiling covered with hundreds of little glow-in-the-dark stars.

"I did it because I think it's time you finally knew that the stars were always for you. Always. Only. Ever. For you."

"Every night when you go to sleep, I know you'll see the stars and think of me. Sweet dreams, Boots."

"When we sleep together, it's not going to be because of a bet."

Talking about people inspiring him and the sunsets on the Eastbrooke video.

"Fine. I'd like it to be like a date. I just don't know what complicated means."

"So, is he wooing you? Is he taking you out? Being sweet? Making you fall for him? If you have to think about it, the answer is no."

A car that is almost as gorgeous as he is.

Opening the car door for me.

The way his hand feels on top of mine. The way he presses down on it slightly when he shifts. It's like he's in control.

"Boots, we're gonna be a lot more than friends by then."

"I think anything we do together will be fun."

"I definitely want you naked. Just not yet. We should take things slow. Be friends."

"I want this feather. Can I take it off?"

Running the feather up the side of my neck-among other places.

One single finger following the outline of my dress. On. My. Naked. Skin.

Only using a feather on me.

My feather earring attached to his backpack.

"I might want to use it again."

Giving me his sweatpants when mine were wet.

A complicated-looking thing with his hands. His thumbs and pointer fingers form touching double O's. Then the rest of his fingers form sort of a bridge above the O's.

Sparks flying when our fingers touch to form a four-leaf clover.

"It's going to take both of us to make this work. I heard Dawson took you on a date tonight."

"Doesn't matter if he woos you. I'm going to win."

"We're going to take things slow."

"I'd wait for you forever. You don't get it, do you?"

"We're going to be together for a long time. There's no need to rush things when you know that."

"Did you not feel it? Was it just me?"

"Don't fight me anymore."

In the pouring rain: The. Best. Kiss. Of. My. Entire. Life.

"Boots, love isn't like a cute pair of shoes. You can't try it on to see if it fits and walk out the door wearing it."

"You told me sometimes true love takes a bit. Do you believe that?"

"But sometimes the girl is used to getting things instantly. And probably the guy is too. And maybe they need to slow down."

"You don't have to have sex to know. Sex isn't love."

A forehead against mine.

"I told Coach I forgot my lucky charm and had to go back and get it."

"Real swan feathers dipped in gold. Made in Paris."

"I like when you can't think."

Saying "Now, I can't lose." after I draw a four-leaf clover on his bicep.

"This is the view from a gorgeous hotel in Crete. Someday we're going to stand on this balcony and watch this sunset together."

"I want to watch a million sunsets with you."

"'The heart has its reasons which reason knows nothing of.'"

"You're beautiful. Like, you take my breath away. Sometimes when you're tutoring me, I feel like I can't breathe."

A slow, tender, amazing kiss. that feels like he's waking up something inside of me.

Kisses that make me feel poetic-kissing him is like watching fireworks: a little flash as it goes up in the sky, an explosion of colors, those colors falling and fading in the sky, and then you hear the boom.

"Le coeur a ses raisons que la raison ne connat point."

"Ever think that's cuz he doesn't care as much as I do?"

Running his hand across my face.

"Forever, huh?"

A deep blue oxford with contrasting paisley fabric inside the collar. A navy blazer. And a purple and blue paisley tie, partially tied around his neck. Shoulders that still have little drops of rain on them. Looking like he does after football practice, his hair wet, slightly messed up. But instead of being sweaty and gross, he's all dressed up. The combination of the two make him look unbelievably, adorably sexy.

"You have an unusual way of thinking, but I'd like that. I don't think I want to collapse into a heap."

"So, Boots, I was wondering if you would be my escort for the Compass Cup. Wear my jersey. Walk me out on the field. Go to the banquet with me. Be my lucky charm?"

Looking like someone just opened the gates of heaven.

A slow, perfect, knock-me-off-my-feet, slide-down-a-rainbow and then soar-through-the-sky kiss.

"I'm sorry I kinda got mad the other night. I'd love for you to be my date for the banquet."

Looking at my Halloween costume and saying, "I wouldn't have let you out of my room."

"Boots, I want to build a framework with you. Do you still want that?"

"I want the framework-the foundation-built on love, not sex. Build a foundation with me. A nice, strong foundation. Then we'll build a huge sprawling mansion of love on it. The kind no one could ever knock down."

A kiss on the nose.

"You'd be a cute piggy."

"I bought tickets to every showing."

"I love this play because the good guy wins."

Taking me to the soccer goal and saying, "This is where we first met."

"I can't take this anymore. I want you to be my date for the banquet, but that means you have to wear my jersey and escort me onto the field. Period. No negotiation. Otherwise, you can go with Dawson. And if you do, I'll give up. I'm trying here."

"I want to drag you away from Dawson any time I see you talking to him!"

Grabbing my arm and dragging me up to his room.

Picking me up and setting me down hard on his desk, sending his perfectly stacked books onto the floor in the process.

His lips landing hard on mine.

A full hot-tongue-straight-into-my-mouth kiss.

A kiss so hot, it's incendiary. Like the white-hot blazes of the underworld. Or the electrical charge of a lightning bolt.

A god's full power being unleashed on me.

His tongue destroying my mouth. Devastating it. Owning it like no boy ever has.

"You're dumb because you can't see that I'm so fucking jealous, I can barely function. So I'm gonna ask you one last time. Will. You. Wear. My. Jersey?"

A skillful tongue.

A tongue going so deeply in my mouth that I'm pushed roughly down across his desk, causing me to almost scream, Unleash the Titan!

Causing my panties to melt clean off my body and end up nothing but a little pile of ashes smoldering on the floor.

Being wild and out of control.

"God, you make me crazy."

"I do want to be your friend, Boots. I want to be your everything."

Picking me up off his desk, laying me across his bed, and kissing me some more. With his tongue.

"Tell me more about the framework."

"I've been trying not to pressure you. You once told me something about the Keats guy. That you didn't know if he loved you so much he let you go, or he let you go because he didn't care enough. I want you to know with me. I want you to know exactly where we stand."

A sexy, deep laugh. The kind of laugh I want to hear every day.

"Night, Boots."

"You can trust me, Boots. You can tell me anything."

"Vous avez vole le spectacle." (You stole the show.) "It's your job to paint this neon stuff on me for the pep rally."

Making him groan while I brush paint above his waistband.

A curled up fist, placed gently under my chin, and a kiss.

"You look good as my number one."

A tongue that feels like heaven.

Drawing hearts on my leg, forming a perfect four-leaf clover.

Kissing the glass clover, tucking it back inside my bra, and telling me to, "Break a leg, Boots."

A bouquet of lavender roses and white feathers.

"I think you know exactly what both the feathers and the lavender roses mean. You were amazing. You seriously light up the stage when you're on it."

"I don't care what you say. I want to be the first to get your autograph."

A beaming smile.

"Only if I get to end up in the moonlight with you."

"I just like that you're spunky, wild, and full of life. It's that little spark of fearlessness that made you steal the soccer ball from boys you'd never met and kick it at my face. It may be the thing I like best about you."

A murmur in my ear.