Best 383 quotes in «flirting quotes» category

Relax, princess. If your prince arrives, I'll vacate. Just keeping you company. Besides, he should know better than to leave a beautiful girl waiting on him; someone else might swoop in and steal his prize." This man is insufferable. "I'm neither a princess nor a prize, nor a girl if you want to be specific about it." "I notice you didn't mind my calling you beautiful." The waitress comes over and asks what he would like. I begin to tell her he isn't staying, but he talks right over me. "The three-wine flight and a slice of the chestnut cream cake, please." Damn his eyes! That was the dessert I was most interested in: layers of chestnut cream, apricot glaze, and dark chocolate ganache.

Rowena Clark and I had met on the first day of our mixed media class. I’d sat down at her table and said, “Mind if I join you? Figure the best way to learn about art is to sit with a masterpiece.” Maybe I was in love, but I was still Adrian Ivashkov. Rowena had fixed me with a flat look. “Let’s get one thing straight. I can see through crap a mile away, and I like girls, not guys, so if you can’t handle me telling you what’s what, then you’d better take your one-liners and hair gel somewhere else. I don’t go to this school to put up with pretty boys like you. I’m here to face dubious employment options with a painting degree and then go get a Guinness after class.” I’d scooted my chair closer to the table. “You and I are going to get along just fine.

On to the library. And all through his time at the card catalog, combing the shelves, filling out the request cards, he danced a silent, flirtatious minuet of the eyes with a rosy-cheeked redhead in the biology section, pages of notes spread before her. All his life, he had had a yen for women in libraries. In a cerebral setting, the physical becomes irresistible. Also, he figured he was really more likely to meet a better or at least more compatible woman in a library than in a saloon. Ought to have singles libraries, with soups and salads, Bach and Mozart, Montaignes bound in morocco; place to sip, smoke, and seduce in a classical setting, noon to midnight. Chaucer's Salons, call them, franchise chain.

See, admit it, you need my help.” “Fine. I need you… your help.” My admission made Ace’s half smile bloom into a full one. He really was devastatingly handsome. And so very, very unattainable. “What makes you say that, Riles?” His thumb brushed up my neck, as his other hand splayed a little wider along my hip. “Huh? He winked at me. “I’ve never been unattainable.” I stood there, dumbfounded. “I said that out loud?

See, Jace never learned how to flirt properly, because he was raised by a murderous sociopath.

Sex, a switchblade, and motorcycle lessons. You really are making sure my night ends on a high note.

She jammed both hands to her hips, grinding her boots to the linoleum. “You are so rigid, it’s infuriating!” Noah’s ear-to-ear smile froze the breath right to her lungs. “I know, but you’re really cute when you’re irritated, and it’s kind of worth pissing you off.” Violet nearly lost her death grip on the peas. “You think I’m cute?

She jotted down the order, then forced herself to meet his gaze. "It's going to be a bit of a wait, we're short-staffed this morning." The following words rushed out of her. "And breakfast's on me." "Normally, I wouldn't protest," he said, leaning closer. "But in public, I'd prefer a plate." An image of Rukh, hair untied, licking whipped cream off her navel flashed through her mind, left her staring.

She noticed a large grease stain on the front of her coveralls as she stood up. A few half-hearted wipes told her it was a lost cause. That’s what she got for wearing her good coveralls for a teardown. What had possessed her to even do so? Brionie hadn’t noticed. It would take more than that to get her attention

She [Nana] listened to his [Steiner's] propositions, turning them down every time with a shake of the head and that provocative laughter which is peculiar to full-bodied blondes.

Speaking of body decorations, I luuhhhvv your belly piercing!” Heeb said, looking at the gold ring in the center of her slim, tan waist. Despite the artic cold, Angelina had opted for a skin tight, black tube top that ended just above her belly, on the assumption that a warm cab, a winter coat, and a short wait to get into the club was an adequate frosty weather strategy. Heeb was still reverently staring at her belly when Angelina finally caught her breath from laughing. “Do you really like it? You’re just saying that so that you can check out my belly!” “And what’s so bad about that? I mean, didn’t you get that belly piercing so that people would check out your belly?” “No. I just thought it would look cool…Do you have any piercings?” “Actually, I do,” Heeb replied. “Where?” “My appendix.” “Huh?” “I wanted to be the first guy with a pierced organ. And the appendix is a totally useless organ anyway, so I figured why the hell not?” “That’s pretty original,” she replied, amused. “Oh yeah. I’ve outdone every piercing fanatic out there. The only problem is when I have to go through metal detectors at the airport.” Angelina burst into laughs again, and then managed to say, “Don’t you have to take it out occasionally for a cleaning?” “Nah. I figure I’ll just get it removed when my appendix bursts. It’ll be a two for one operation, if you know what I mean.

Steaming, Sebastian flies up out of his seat and makes a dramatic exit out the front door. "Is he always so crazy?" I asked. "Yeah. But he's a hot fuck. You'll see." "No thanks... I'll pass. That kid's severely psychotic." "He's just a jealous mess." "Why did you marry him?" "We're not married. We're in an open relationship." "Thank God. I was seriously worried." "YEAH. Well I better go find him- before he slits his wrists." "GOOD IDEA. Better take some duct tape-- just in case you're too late.

Sure you are," Jack replied. He sashayed up next to me, and yes, it was a sashay, he was far too damn smug for his good looks. Damn me for getting all girly inside at the sight of him coming over to rescue my damsel in distress. Then he became the ultimate man. He picked up the flat spare, looked at it, and said "Yep, it's flat." "What are you, a rocket scientist in your spare time?" "Only on the weekends.

That's it. New rule: no more flirting during the zombie apocalypse

Phoebe stared up at Mr. Ravenel with narrowed eyes. He was standing too close to her, his head and shoulders blocking the sunlight. "You should know that looming over me like that doesn't intimidate me," she said curtly. "I grew up with two very large brothers." He relaxed his posture instantly, hooking his thumbs in his trouser pockets. "I'm not trying to intimidate you. I'm taller. I can't help that." Hogwash, Phoebe thought. He knew quite well he'd been standing over her. But she was secretly amused by the sight of him trying so hard not to appear overbearing. "Don't think I couldn't cut you down to size," she warned. He gave her an innocent glance. "Just as long as you do it by hand." The smart-aleck remark surprised a laugh from her. Insolent rascal. West Ravenel smiled slightly, his gaze holding hers, and for a moment her throat tinged sweetly at the back, as if she'd just swallowed a spoonful of cool honey.

Say, you told me you thought Les Miserables was the greatest novel ever written. I think Vanity Fair is the greatest. Let's fight. - Joe Willard

She glanced to him and patted the seat beside her. “I only bite on Tuesdays. You’re safe.

She was determined to sever the connection between her brain and her mouth before any unpleasant truths could escape. After all, she didn’t need a brain to flirt, did she?

She was giving him a look. It took Eustace a second to figure out what it was. Her off-kilter gaze traveled the length of his body, then lingered pointedly. The gesture was supposed to be seductive but was more like livestock trying to sell itself.

She was momentarily distracted by the way he held the book in his hands, his fingertips subtly caressing the kid-leather binding. He had princely hands; they were large and manly, full of strength, yet ineffably elegant. She routed a shivery-sweet memory of those smooth, warm hands gliding up under her skin. "You wished to see me, my lord?" she asked in a studiedly formal tone, one hand still on the door latch. " 'Come live with me and be my love, And we will some some new pleasures prove, Of golden sands and crystal brooks, With silken lines and silver hooks.' " Alice blinked in surprise. "I beg your pardon?" He slid her a disarming, rather wily smile, and continued in a low, magical singsong: " 'Thee will the river whispering run, Warmed by thine eyes more than the sun. And there the enamored fish will stay, Begging themselves they may betray. When thou wilt swim in that live bath, Each fish, which every channel hath, Will amorously to thee swim, Gladder to catch thee, than thou him.' " A blush crept into her cheeks as pink as the rose he had sent her, but she gave him an arch look. Did the cad really expect her to fall for this?

Sierra couldn’t afford complications, not in her position, but the way he flirted with her and teased had amped her touch hunger to a deafening roar.

So I’m guessing,” he went on, pointing with his fork, “that you’re in a pretty good position to answer the question of where to draw the line between seduction and sexual harassment. Is it how you say things, or what you say?” She pondered with a quiet hum for a few seconds before explaining: “Some think it has to do with the artistry of delivery, but in fact you can have an eloquent harasser and a clumsy flirt. The difference is the message. Both begin with the same basic premise: ‘I desire you.’ Where they diverge is in what follows that premise. The harasser says: ‘I desire you, and I’m going to keep at you until you give in.’ But the seducer’s message puts the power into the hands of the person being desired, with the message being: ‘I desire you, and if the feeling is mutual, come and get it.’ The harasser demands, the seducer invites. That’s the difference.

Swedes love queuing.....they even flirt in queues!!!

Thanks. I love cake.

Thanks. Seriously, you must have better things to do with your life than waste it on the hopeless?' 'I've already learned Parseltongue. What else is there?' 'Elvish.

That is what you said! You think you can just pay me to talk to your friend? Clearly you pay most of your female companions by the hour and don’t know how it works with the real world, but…but..” Blue remembered that she was working to a point, but not what that point was. Indignation had eliminated all higher functions and all that remained was the desire to slap him. The boy opened his mouth to protest, and her thought came back to her all in a rush. “Most girls, when they’re interested in a guy, will sit them with for free .

That's why I had a reduction when I was twenty-one," which is when his expression morphed into one of horror. You'd have thought I told him I made an amazing stew from tiny babies and puppy tongues. "Why on earth would you do that? That's like God giving you a beautiful gift and you kicking him in the nuts." I laughed. "God? I thought you were agnostic, Professor." "I am. But if I could motorboat perfect tits like yours I might be able to find Jesus." I felt my blush warm my cheeks. "Because Jesus totally lives in my cleavage?" "Not anymore he doesn't. Your boobs are now too small for him to be comfortable in there." He shook his head, and I couldn't stop laughing. "So selfish, Ziggs,

The bent head, the averted eye, the faltering voice, the wincing figure- these, and not the unshrinking gaze and frank reply, are the true signals of passion.

The blinking of eyes is an involuntary reflex action, provided they eyes are not watching your beauty.

The darkest hour of my day is the one in which I don't get to see you.

The Doctor: Dr. Song, you’ve got that face on again. River: What face? The Doctor: The ‘he’s hot when he’s clever’ face. River: This is my normal face. The Doctor: Yes, it is.

The flirting means you are punishing and hurting yourself with your inner negative feelings and desires.

The moon is too old, the flower is too old;even the sunset is not enough. The only relevant metaphor for you is your mirror image.

There are plenty of secrets I would like to know about you, Daphne.

There is a difference between being flirt and being cheap.. The ART of flirt shows your intelligence which is really a turn on for women.. And the ACT of being cheap can slit your throat, squeeze your balls and curse you to the hell in women's mind..

There is no compromise when it comes to someones delicate feelings, the only way out is to stop pretending and set yourself free from someones life.

These things excite me so,’ she whispered. ‘If you want to kiss me any time during the evening, Nick, just let me know and I'll be glad to arrange it for you. Just mention my name. Or present a green card.

The tiny match we've been fooling with just set off an explosion.

The air is full of flying kisses sent by the people who are watching you.

There are two causes for "burning": passionate desires coming from our thoughts, and flirting.

They say I should stay away from you,” I said. “They said you’re not good for me.” “I’m not,” he said with a wicked smile, “But doesn’t that make it even more fun?

They were both lean and blond and weather-beaten, and one evening, as they were portaging gear from their respective Zodiacs, Libby unzipped her survival suit and tied the sleeves around her waist so she could move more freely. Nate said, "You look good in that." No one, absolutely no one, looks good in a survival suit (unless a Day-Glo orange marshmallow man is your idea of a hot date), but Libby didn't even make the effort to roll her eyes. "I have vodka and a shower in my cabin," she said. "I have a shower in my cabin, too," Nate said. Libby just shook her head and trudged up the path to the lodge. Over her shoulder she called, "In five minutes, there's going to be a naked woman in my shower. You got one of those?" "Oh," said Nate.

This got him to the door. There, ridiculously, he turned. It was only at the door, he decided in retrospect, that her conduct was quite in excusable: not only did she stand unncessarily close, but, by shifting the weight of her body to one leg and leaning her head sidewise, she lowered her height several inches, placing him in a dominating position exactly suited to the broad, passive shadows she must have known were on her face." (“Snowing in Greenwich Village")

This night is going well. "Hello there." I speak too soon. Dunstan enters, his two cronies behind him. Everyone standing around goes quiet. I flinch, but not for me; he's gazing at Ivy like a lion at a piece of meat. Ivy just keeps grinning. "And may I say you are the prettiest girl I've seen all night," Dunstan says, not noticing the fact Ivy's already taken. Ivy stares down at her feet, a pale blush the color of pink roses brushed across her cheeks. "You don't mean that," she whispers, not knowing she's accidentally flirting. "I really do," Dunstan continues in his oily, supposedly charming voice, and I roll my eyes. I want to pull Ivy away, but if I do, Dunstan will notice me. And without Melanie breathing down his neck, who knows what he'll try to pull? "So what's your name, beautiful?" Ivy blush deepens and i feel my nails dig into my skin. I'm the one whose supposed to tell her she's pretty, not this jerk. "My name is Ivy," Ivy replies. "Ivy. I like it. It suits you." I feel an arm on my shoulder and turning around, I see Aidan holding me back. Unconsciously, I've stepped forward, ready to challenge him. "So what is your name?" Ivy asks, still shyly peering down at her shoeless feet. Acting all surprised he got asked this, Dunstan runs a hand through his hair. "My name is Dunstan." Ivy's flush instantly vanishes, the corners of her mouth turns down, and her eyebrows knit together. "Dunstan? This is your name?" Quiet as she's being, I know there's anger there. I'd hate to be the recipient of this tone. But Dunstan the egotistical baboon butt isn't aware of the change. "Yep, that's me." "What is your last name?" I feel someone shaking. Aidan's still hanging on to me, and he's nervous, too. Dunstan still doesn't detect her malice. "Why, my last name's Lebelle. Dunstan Lebelle." He chuckles. "Perhaps you've heard of me?" "Oh yes," Ivy hisses, suddenly radiating ferocious fury. "I've heard much about the boy who nearly got Rylan Forester killed." Even with blaring music in the next room, you can hear a pin drop throughout the kitchen as everyone goes quiet, having lost all ability to talk due to flapping jaws. Someone whistles. "Excuse me?" Dunstan sounds like he can't believe what he's hearing. "You heard me." Ivy glares, knowing she has him caught. "You pushed Rylan into the swamp where the alligator attacked him. Sure, you can blame the alligator, but when you really think about, if you had not pushed him in, Rylan wouldn't have nearly died. Who, by the way," Ivy steps back, clasping my free hand in hers, "happens to be my friend and my date." Everyone bursts into titters—no one has ever spoken to Dustan Lebelle like that—as Dunstan stares at me wide-eyed, finally taking in my existence. But before he can do anything, Ivy pulls my hand. "We're leaving," she declares, giving Dunstan one last stink eye. And with her nose in the air and me following, Ivy boldly walks right out the back door.

Tiring of his questioning, I tell him adamantly that nothing's ever going to happen between Kahn and I. "But you want it to." "It doesn't matter what I want. It's never gonna happen." "Does he know that you wear ballet shoes to bed?" "I do NOT-" He laughed, "That you're GAY-" "Oh. Yeah- he knows THAT." He asks if Kahn is okay with me being gay. "HE LOVES IT." "LOVES THAT YOU'RE GAY?" "YEAH." "Sounds PROMISING." "That's what I thought. But Nadda." "Nadda... YET.

To think I actually talked to the boy who nearly got you killed," Ivy mutters, shuddering with disgust. "I'm so sorry I did." "It's okay. You didn't know," I reassure her as we take a seat on some pool chairs. "But you told me before what his appearance was. I should have recognized him!" "It's fine, Ivy. Even if you did your best to avoid him, he would've found way to hit on you eventually." Ivy wrinkles her nose at the unfamiliar language. " 'Hit on'? What does that mean?" "Flirting. Or, for Dunstan, more like a procedure. He's been hitting on any pretty girl he sees ever since he and Melanie broke up. I don't know if he's doing this to make her jealous or what, but it's really annoying." I look back up to see Ivy go rigid. For some reason she looks classically surprised; her hand is over her mouth, and the rosy blush is back with a vengeance, "Ivy? You okay?" Ivy removes her hand, muttering something so quietly I can't hear it. "Sorry?" "You called me pretty." The moment those words are said, Ivy stares down at her feet as her face gets brighter. "Well, yeah," I murmur, my face hot. "You really are beautiful tonight, Ivy.

Try not to breathe,” I tell Lira. “It might get stuck halfway out.” Lira flicks up her hood. “You should try not to talk then,” she retorts. “Nobody wants your words being preserved for eternity.” “They’re pearls of wisdom, actually.” I can barely see Lira’s eyes under the mass of dark fur from her coat, but the mirthless curl of her smile is ever-present. It lingers in calculated amusement as she considers what to say next. Readies to ricochet the next blow. Lira pulls a line of ice from her hair, artfully indifferent. “If that is what pearls are worth these days, I’ll make sure to invest in diamonds.” “Or gold,” I tell her smugly. “I hear it’s worth its weight.” Kye shakes the snow from his sword and scoffs. “Anytime you two want to stop making me feel nauseated, go right ahead.” “Are you jealous because I’m not flirting with you?” Madrid asks him, warming her finger on the trigger mechanism of her gun. “I don’t need you to flirt with me,” he says. “I already know you find me irresistible.” Madrid reholsters her gun. “It’s actually quite easy to resist you when you’re dressed like that.” Kye looks down at the sleek red coat fitted snugly to his lithe frame. The fur collar cuddles against his jaw and obscures the bottoms of his ears, making it seem as though he has no neck at all. He throws Madrid a smile. “Is it because you think I look sexier wearing nothing?” Torik lets out a withering sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose. I’m not sure whether it’s from the hours we’ve gone without food or his inability to wear cutoffs in the biting cold, but his patience seems to be wearing thin. “I could swear that I’m on a life-and-death mission with a bunch of lusty kids,” he says. “Next thing I know, the lot of you will be writing love notes in rum bottles.” “Okay,” Madrid says. “Now I feel nauseated.” I laugh.

This is going to take forever." "I wouldn't mind spending forever with you," Zaid winked.

Unfortunately, he still hadn’t asked for my number, or a date, or my hand in marriage, and my drink was getting low.

Vin looked down at the handkerchief. When a nobleman wants to court a lady seriously, he gives her a handkerchief.