Best 383 quotes in «flirting quotes» category

He leaned against the chair, his muscular arms relaxed. “Is yer name Rose Amy.” I gave him an impressed look. I hadn’t expected him to catch on to the vague alphabetical clues to my initials. “Wrong.” “Curses.” He clicked his tongue against his teeth a few times, and I wanted to lean in and kiss him, hard. “Renee… Antoinette”. “I’d kill my mother if she named me Rene Antoinette.” I took another drink of my beer, wishing I hadn’t mentioned my mother. He gave a throaty laugh. “It’s god-awful, that’s fur sure.” “Quit stalling,” I sighed in mock boredom. “Rachel Anne.” My blood slopped to a halt in my veins. “Uh-No.” I lied, hiding the shock in my eyes.

He looked straight at me and winked. On anyone else it would have looked ridiculous - 1996 had moved beyond the language of winking at girls.

He slouches,' DeeDee contributes. 'True--he needs to work on his posture,' Thelma says. 'You guys,' I say. 'I'm serious,' Thelma says. 'What if you get married? Don't you want to go to fancy dinners with him and be proud?' 'You guys. We are not getting married!' 'I love his eyes,' Jolene says. 'If your kids get his blue eyes and your dark hair--wouldn't that be fabulous?' 'The thing is,' Thelma says, 'and yes, I know, this is the tricky part--but I'm thinking Bliss has to actually talk to him. Am I right? Before they have their brood of brown-haired, blue-eyed children?' I swat her. "I'm not having Mitchell's children!' 'I'm sorry--what?' Thelma says. Jolene is shaking her head and pressing back laughter. Her expressing says, Shhh, you crazy girl! But I don't care. If they're going to embarrass me, then I'll embarrass them right back. 'I said'--I raise my voice--'I am not having Mitchell Truman's children!' Jolene turns beet red, and she and DeeDee dissolve into mad giggles. 'Um, Bliss?' Thelma says. Her gaze travels upward to someone behind me. The way she sucks on her lip makes me nervous. 'Okaaay, I think maybe I won't turn around,' I announce. A person of the male persuasion clears his throat. 'Definitely not turning around,' I say. My cheeks are burning. It's freaky and alarming how much heat is radiating from one little me. 'If you change your mind, we might be able to work something out,' the person of the male persuasion says. 'About the children?' DeeDee asks. 'Or the turning around?' 'DeeDee!' Jolene says. 'Both,' says the male-persuasion person. I shrink in my chair, but I raise my hand over my head and wave. 'Um, hi,' I say to the person behind me whom I'm still not looking at. 'I'm Bliss.' Warm fingers clasp my own. 'Pleased to meet you,' says the male-persuasion person. 'I'm Mitchell.' 'Hi, Mitchell.' I try to pull my hand from his grasp, but he won't let go. 'Um, bye now!' I tug harder. No luck. Thelma, DeeDee, and Jolene are close to peeing their pants. Fine. I twist around and give Mitchell the quickest of glances. His expressions is amused, and I grow even hotter. He squeezes my hand, then lets go. 'Just keep me in the loop if you do decide to bear my children. I'm happy to help out.' With that, he stride jauntily to the food line. Once he's gone, we lost it. Peals of laughter resound from our table, and the others in the cafeteria look at us funny. We laugh harder. 'Did you see!' Thelma gasps. 'Did you see how proud he was?' 'You improve his posture!' Jolene says. 'I'm so glad, since that was my deepest desire,' I say. 'Oh my God, I'm going to have to quit school and become a nun.' 'I can't believe you waved at him,' DeeDee says. 'Your hand was like a little periscope,' Jolene says. 'Or, no--like a white surrender flag.' 'It was a surrender flag. I was surrendering myself to abject humiliation.' 'Oh, please,' Thelma says, pulling me into a sideways hug. 'Think of it this way: Now you've officially talked to him.

He told me that when we first met, he had said to a friend about me: “If I get that girl’s number I will never ask another girl for her number again.

He turned and quickly removed his pants. My eyes grew huge, since he wore nothing underneath. I started to stammer, trying to avert my gaze,his sex all but riveting my eyes as I stared, blatantly helpless.“We will not make love. You’re in this bed as a friend. Why make things difficult?” I was hot all over; his body was perfect, strong, welcoming and oh-so-alive.

He was universally charming, as only a writer in pursuit of a publisher can be.

Hey, where are you going?" His voice, confused yet curious, called after me. "Hey. Why didn't your mother name you Maybe, or We'll see, or What's-Your-Number? That way, we could call our first born Absolutely.

His manner invited easy confidence. The preliminary stage of becoming acquainted was one which he always endeavored to ignore when a pretty and engaging woman was concerned.

I Am Not Sherlock, But I Will Share Happiness With You And Lock you In My Heart For The Rest Of My Life.

I can see how your mother would have a point. Having a debate with a politically minded woman can be intriguing and even entertaining but to share a house with her and have her always campaigning and protesting at the dinner table,” he slanted his gaze down toward me. “That could be very tiring indeed.

I can't say I remember this bit in the book,' she commented when he was finished and she was sweeping an applicator along his collarbone and pressing it lightly into the hollow beneath. 'They call it “artistic licence”. ' 'Not just the producers trying to shoe-horn in a scene involving you in a wet shirt?' 'Why would they want that?' There was a soft gleam of white teeth as his lips parted in a smile.

He stops walking and grasps both of my hands to stop me. He narrows his eyes at me. "You’ve never been tickled? Ever?” His lips curl in a wickedly sexy smile. “You’re a tickle…virgin?” I nod and tilt my head down, looking demure. He makes it sound so erotic. I finally find my voice. “It wasn’t a virginity I ever focused on.

He wasn't good with this sort of thing - with the back-and-forth dance between man and woman. He wasn't even sure if they were dancing, or if she was merely being polite.

Honestly, he'd said more perverted things to my face. To my boobs. Did he really think he was school-ing me in being sexy right now? Really? You're completely unimpressed? Zzzzzzzzzzz, I wrote back.

Hurry up, before there's no more night left.

I do not demand attention from a man however, when it is directed at me...I insist it is directed at ONLY me.... I do not share well...

I am a mathematician and I can confidently say that the best figure ever produced is your phone number.

I don't know if anyone's ever told you this", he begins. He doesn't blush, and his eyes don't dart away. Instead I find myself staring into a pair of oceans - one perfect, the other blemished by that tiny ripple. "You're very attractive." I've been complimented on my appearance before. But never in his tone of voice. Of all the things he's said, I don't know why this catches me off guard. But it startles me so much that without thinking I blurt out, "I could say the same about you." I pause. "In case you didn't know." A slow grin spreads across his face. "Oh, trust me. I know.

If beauty had religious and spiritual importance, there would have been your temples all around the world.

If I catch you making eyes at Hunter Chenier tonight, it's over between us.' She looked over her shoulder. 'That a promise?

If I have only one coin left in the world, I will buy a rose to propose to you.

“Chloe isn’t flirting with that guy,” Simon said. “Course not.” “I mean it. She’s—” I glanced back at him. “I’m not blind. She’s only paying enough attention to him to be polite. He’s the one flirting, which is bugging her and that’s why I’m pissed off. She’s trying to eat her fries and he’s interrupting.” Simon chuckled.

If sleep wasn't necessary, I would have used those 8 hours just to gaze at you.

If sleep wasn't necessary, I would have used those 8 hours to gaze at you.

I get the uneasy suspicion that you're holding something back, Mr. Reading," she said. "Or were you simply going to cast more aspersions on my threadbare wardrobe?" "I'm afraid you're so pretty that I hadn't even noticed your wardrobe, Miss Harriman. Your sister doesn't have the advantage of your beauty." "If that's supposed to make me feel better it's failed," she said, finally getting angry. "My sister is very striking, and only shallow gentlemen would fail to realize that." "I'm very shallow, Miss Harriman. You enchant me. Your sister terrifies me." "Good," she said. Then realized how it sounded. "I mean, good that my sister terrifies you, and I would certainly wish that I could do the same." He looked at her. "In fact, you do terrify me, Miss Harriman, for quite different reasons." "I can't imagine why." His twisted smile was far from reassuring. "I think you would prefer I not mention it to you," he murmured. "I don't understand." "You don't need to.

I hardly have a typo when I am drunk and texting! But, I will have enough typos when I am emotionally charged with love, lust, poetry and hope, and texting!

I hate shopping for clothes," Kate said. "I liked when I was in the military and all I needed was camouflage gear." "Shopping can be fun. Especially when it's for a con. It's the first step in creating a character. Isn't there anything you enjoy buying? Lingerie? Shoes? Jewelry?" "Shoes are okay. I don't have to take my clothes off to try them on." "You don't like to take your clothes off?" "It's the lighting in the dressing rooms. It makes you look fat and anemic. And pulling clothes on and off wrecks my hair." Nick put his hand on her head and ruffled her hair. "Like this?" Kate jumped away. "Stop it! I have enough hair problems without you making it worse." "Maybe if you ran a brush through it once in a while." "Maybe if you'd keep your hands off it!" Nick grinned and hugged her into him. "Are we a team, or what? Stick with me and I'll get you to enjoy taking your clothes off." "You're flirting with me." "Stating a fact," Nick said.

...I know that if you ask me to jump I will say how high. So I will stay away from you and hope that you never ever say jump.

I like you when you're algebraic," said Ulf--and immediately regretted it. It was a flirtatious remark--describing somebody as algebraic was undoubtedly to cross a line. You would not normally describe an ordinary friend as algebraic, and then say that you liked her that way.

I’ll piously gather up the crumbs of your feasts and make a meal of them,” said Nora. “I’ll let you know how they taste.

I'm just messaging you to say that I haven't been thinking about you at all today. Not a bit. And i don't even miss you. That's all. later, Kitten

I'm not a wilting flower, unless that gets me extraspecial treats.

I narrowed my eyes at it. Ming-de’s little gift, I assumed. “You look better in color,” I snapped. He sent me a sultry look over his shoulder. “Really? Most women think I look better in nothing at all.

In material things, there are seven wonders; in human beings there is only one wonder - and that's you.

In that case, hell, I'll even spring for the coffee. Unless you're some kind of damned tea-drinking Englishman, in which case you can buy your own dirty leafy water." "Drink tea in America?" Jeremy's eyebrow twitched upwards in disbelief. "I'm not that sort of masochist. Coffee, at least, has the benefit of being horrible the world over, so it doesn't matter where you get it." Simon eyed him narrowly. "And to think I was almost not hating you." Jeremy blinked, feigning confusion. "Goodness. Did I say something wrong?

I rolled on my side and propped myself on my elbow. “I told you how that happened. I just got the instructions mixed up. This is Approach No. 2, known as the waiting game. You want me to explain how it works? You take these two citizens, A and B, we’ll call ‘em—“ She laughed, and picked up the charcoal stick again. “All right. I’ve been warned. But didn’t your instruction book warn you?” “About what?” I asked. “That your Approach No. 2, as you call it, won’t work after it’s been explained.” “Killjoy. Now I’ve got to buy a new manual.

I shan't mind if you don't," he agreed. "But I'll not let you go, Prudence. Til not pester you, but know this: I will wait until you choose to listen to your heart." "Pshaw." It was a feeble effort. She took a deep breath and tried again. "Humbug! How can you presume to know my heart?" He smiled a slow, devastating smile. "You are my heart." He lifted her hand and kissed it. "And our hearts beat in tune. I know it—I, who used not to believe in such things. And you know it.

Is it fair to say we're just two adults who find the other interesting?" "That's all I would say." "No hidden agenda?" "None" "Have breakfast with me?" "How could I refuse?

Is there anything I can do?" He gave her a tired grin. "Crawl in bed with me." She glared at him, then got up and tossed him a terry-cloth robe she found hanging on the back of the bathroom door. "Meet me in the kitchen. I'll make you a sandwich." "You don't need to make me a sandwich." "But I'm going to." She left the room before he could protest further. In the kitchen, she layered grilled pancetta, tomato and lettuce on toasted thick slabs of sourdough. She added some chopped cornichons, Dijon mustard and fresh snipped tarragon to the mayo, just to show off. Around Bella Vista, her PLT's were legendary. Mac wasn't wearing the robe when he came downstairs. He'd thrown on a pair of lived-in cutoffs, faded in all the right places, and a rumpled but clean T-shirt with a logo from a kiteboarding resort in Australia. She cut the sandwich into quarters and set it on a pottery plate, along with a side of grapes and parmesan chips, and a beer in a frosty mug. He regarded the small feast on the table. "I hope you don't mind if I moan in ecstasy while I eat this." "I'd rather you didn't," she said, helping herself to a quarter of the sandwich. "Cook's tax," she explained.

Is that your idea of flirting? Get half naked and tease me with your talk of sheep?

I stopped at a red light, turned my head, and allowed myself to enjoy the handsomeness that was Brent. He noticed my staring and asked, "What?" "As if you don't know. You're not the type of guy that a girl gets tired of looking at." "Oh. Well in that case, you're welcome to look all you want," he said and gestured to himself. "You're allowed to touch, too." He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. I lowered my voice into its sexy-husky range. "I was hoping you'd say that." With my flirtiest look on my face, I rubbed my hand slowly up his arm and then pinched him firmly on the shoulder. "Ow!" Brent rubbed his shoulder and grinned. "Not what I had in mind!

I think poverty is not the worst thing in the world, blindness is, because blind people cannot see your beauty.

I think you're cute and grammatical, too.

I thought of writing a summary about you, but when I finished it was a book.

I thought you weren’t going to do that sort of thing.” “I’m not going to seduce you without invitation,” Heilyn clarified, “but I’m still allowed to flirt, and that was flirting.” “I think you’re changing these rules as we go along.” “More fun that way, isn’t it?

it’s fun talking to you… like walking on the edge of a precipice. At first one’s nervous but then courage takes over from somewhere.

It's like playing the lottery. It doesn't matter how extremely low the chances are of winning. You gotta be in it to win it. Hitting on every girl in sight is like buying a whole lot of lottery tickets. You never know, one day one of them might actually pay off.

It's not who, it's when

It's so weird that adults in committed relationships have a problem with something so innocuous as flirting. I would never expect you to walk around with a paper bag over your head to avoid catching the eye of a stranger, nor would I discourage you making friendly conversation with whomever you might encounter during the day. And if you needed to fuck somebody else, we could talk about it. People change, our desires evolve, and it feels foolish to me to expect what you'll want two, five, or ten years from now will be exactly the same thing that fills you up today. I mean, the way I feel about fidelity has evolved over the last ten years of my life. It's a hard-and-fast rule that we don't apply to any other thing in our lives: YOU MUST LOVE THIS [SHOW/BOOK/FOOD/SHIRT] WITH UNWAVERING FERVOR FOR THE REST OF YOUR NATURAL LIFE. Could you imagine being forced to listen to your favorite record from before your music tastes were refined for the rest of your life? Right now I'm pretty sure I could listen to Midnight Snack by HOMESHAKE for the rest of my life, but me ten years ago was really into acoustic Dave Matthews, and I'm not sure how I feel about that today. And yes, I am oversimplifying it, but really, if in seven years you want to have sex with the proverbial milkman, just let me know about it beforehand so I can hide my LaCroix and half eaten wedge of port salut. ('Milkmen' always eat all the good snacks.)

It wouldn't kill you to flirt a little, so I don't remember this assignment as totally sucking. I'm babysitting a guy who thinks he's a leprechaun, and I'm rescuing a has-been horse. The least you could do I grab my ass once in a while.