Boyfriend Missing Quotes

It's probably a bad indicator of your lifestyle when you miss your ex-boyfriend because he's absolutely lethal.

But, my God, it's so beautiful when the boy smiles

I missed the future. Obviously I knew even before his recurrence that I'd never grow old with Augustus Waters. But thinking about Lidewij and her boyfriend, I felt robbed. I would probably never again see the ocean from thirty thousand feet above, so far up that you can't make out the waves or any boats, so that the ocean is a great and endless monolith. I could imagine it. I could remember it. But I couldn't see it again, and it occurred to me that the voracious ambition of humans is never sated by dreams coming true, because there is always the thought that everything might be done better and again.

Dante said, “I tried talking Nora into a ride, but she keeps blowing me off.” “That’s because she has a hard-A boyfriend. He must have been homeschooled, because he missed all those valuable lessons we learned in kindergarten, like sharing. He finds out you took Nora for a ride, he’ll wrap this shiny new Porsche around the nearest tree.

Butch hesitated. "Annabeth's okay. You gotta cut her some slack. She had a vision telling her to come here, to find a guy with one shoe. That was supposed to be the answer to her problem." "What Problem?" Piper asked. "She's been looking for one of our campers, who's been missing three days," Butch said. "She's going out of her mind with worry. She hoped he'd be here." "Who?" Jason asked. "Her boyfriend," Butch said, "A guy named Percy Jackson.

I sat on the bed. Neither of us said anything. I wasn't slick and sophisticated enough for this. What do you say to boyfriend A when he finds you naked in the bed of boyfriend B? Especially if boyfriend A turned into a monster the night before and ate someone. I bet Miss Manners didn't cover this at all.

And she was good to me: strong, fun, and fiercely loyal. And if I didn't have many other friends because of her-most girls were intimidated by her looks, or thought she was too pushy, or just flat-out feared for their boyfriends-it never bothered me. I never missed having a wide, thick circle of girlfriends: Rina was more than enough. We were comfortable with each other's flaws and weaknesses, so we stuck together and kept to ourselves.

Maybe it was a mistake leaving you. And I don’t know how to make it right. Regret fills me every single day. So much of it builds up I Hate myself for Missing you. Hurting you. And I want you to know i... Long for you Love you Others may come and go in our lives but... We belong together

I wouldn't miss this fake-homo show for all the Gucci Shoes on Rodeo Drive.

I wonder if you ever read my poems and wish they were written for you.

Why was it considered normal for a girl to live for fashion and makeup, but not car engines or bugs? And what about sports fanatics? My mom had a boyfriend who would flip out if he missed even a minute of a football game. Wouldn't that be what doctors considered autistic behavior?

I can’t believe I’ve missed this sport. It’s all about fingering holes and caressing balls.

I turn to head outside when the boys make their way back into the house. Kel stops in the doorway and puts his hands on his hips, then looks up at me. “Are you my sister’s boyfriend?” I’m thrown off by his directness. I pull my jacket on and shake my head. “Um, no. Just her friend.” “She told my mom you were taking her on a date. I thought only boyfriends took girls on dates.” “Well,” I pause. “Sometimes boys take girls on dates to see if they want them to be their girlfriend.” I notice Caulder standing beside me, taking in the conversation as if he’s just as curious. I wasn’t prepared to have to explain the rules of dating right now. “So it’s like a test?” Caulder asks. “To see if you want Layken to be your girlfriend?” I shrug and nod. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.” Kel laughs. “You aren’t gonna like her. She burps a lot. And she’s bossy. And she never lets me drink coffee, so she probably won’t let you have any, either. And she has really bad taste in music and sings way too loud and leaves her bras all over the house. It’s gross.” I laugh. “Thanks for the warning. You think it’s too late to back out now?” Kel shakes his head, missing my sarcasm completely. “No, she’s already dressed so you have to take her now.” I sigh, pretending to be annoyed. “Well, it’s just a few hours. Hopefully she won’t burp a lot and boss me around and steal my coffee and sing to her really bad music and leave her bra in my car.” Or hopefully she will.

I miss you. Sorry. Was that too much? I know it’s only been a few days. Maybe this is why people don’t want to go out with me. Not that you’re really going out with me anyway. I hope I didn’t sound presumptuous. I’m probably sounding really weird now. I’m assuming you’re not texting back because you’re still asleep. Not because you think I’m disgustingly clingy. If you’re awake and think I’m disgustingly clingy, could you at least tell me. Right. You’re probably asleep. And now you’re going to wake up and read all this and I’m going to die of embarrassment. Sorry.

I like your…outfit.” His eyes took in the naked flesh that was visible below the edge of the shirttail. “I like your outfit too. You’re looking awfully casual this morning, Professor.” He leaned forward and gave her a heated look. “Miss Mitchell, you’re lucky I decided to put on any clothes at all.” He chuckled at her fierce blush and disappeared into the kitchen. Oh, gods of all virgins who are planning to have sex with their sex-god (no blasphemy intended) boyfriends, please don’t let me spontaneously combust when he finally takes me to bed. I really need a Gabriel-induced orgasm, especially after last night. Please. Please. Pretty please…

There is nothing I can do that won’t bring me back to you.

Here goes. See, my boyfriend and I decided to stay together for the summer, you know, even though he had to go visit some family in nowhereville. At least, that’s what he told me. Anyway, everything was fine at first, because you know, we talked every night, and then boom, he just stopped calling. So I called and texted him like the good girlfriend I am, and it wasn’t stalkerish, I swear, because I stopped after, like, the thirtieth time. A week goes by before he finally hits me back, and he was totally drunk and all, hey, baby, I miss you and what are you wearing, like no time had passed, and I was all, you so do not deserve to know.

You'll just do what you did before he was your boyfriend," Alicia says. "You'll go about your day, and you will miss him at first, but over time it will ease. It will lessen." She reaches out, touches her papery hand to my cheek. A smile plays at her lips. "All you need is time, and you, little one, have all the time in the world.

If I can’t be your love, then let me be a simple brooch so I may rest a while against your chest. If I can’t be your love, then let me be a forgotten coin so I may rest a while against your thigh. If I can’t be your love, then let me be an unlit cigarette so I may rest a while in between your lips. If I can’t be your love, then let me at least remain in these words so I may rest a while in your thoughts.

Katherine often teases me that I’m missing the need-a-boyfriend gene, but the truth is I just haven’t met anyone who … well, whom I’m attracted to, even though part of me longs for the fabled trembling knees, heart-in-my-mouth, butterflies-in-my-belly moments. Sometimes I wonder if there’s something wrong with me. Perhaps I’ve spent too long in the company of my literary romantic heroes, and consequently my ideals and expectations are far too high. But in reality, nobody’s ever made me feel like that.

And I... Well, I sort of missed having a poet for a boyfriend." "I'm far from a poet." "Part-time then.

You’d think they’d come up with a better headline. How did they miss a pun about being a gay tight end?” “At least he isn’t a wide receiver.

I stood up angrily. “Look, I’m done talking to you tonight. Will you let me out of this dream? I’m not telling you where I am. And I’m not interested in hearing about how wonderful Avery is and how much better than me she is.” “Avery would never act like a little brat,” he said. “She wouldn’t get so offended that someone actually cares enough to check on her. She wouldn’t deny me the chance to learn more about my magic because she was paranoid someone would ruin her crazy attempt to get over her boyfriend’s death." “Don’t talk to me about being a brat,” I shot back. “You’re as selfish and self-centered as usual. It’s always about you—even this dream is. You hold me against my will, whether I want it or not, because it amuses you.” “Fine,” he said, voice cold. “I’ll end this. And I’ll end everything between us. I won’t be coming back.” “Good. I hope you mean it this time.” His green eyes were the last thing I saw before I woke up in my own bed. I sat up, gasping. My heart felt like it was breaking, and I almost thought I might cry. Adrian was right—I had been a brat. I’d lashed out at him when it wasn’t really deserved. And yet . . . I hadn’t been able to help it. I missed Lissa. I even kind of missed Adrian. And now someone else was taking my place, someone who wouldn’t just walk away like I had. I won’t be coming back. And for the first time ever, I had a feeling he really wouldn’t be.

I hate Christmas. Everything is designed for families, romance, warmth, emotion and presents, and if you have no boyfriend, no money, your mother is going out with a missing Portuguese criminal and your friends don't want to be your friend anymore, it makes you want to emigrate to a vicious Muslim regime, where at least all the women are treated like social outcasts. Anyway, I don't care. I am going to quietly read a book all weekend and listen to classical music.

Sometimes we’re on a collision course, and we just don’t know it. Whether it’s by accident or by design, there’s not a thing we can do about it. A woman in Paris was on her way to go shopping, but she had forgotten her coat - went back to get it. When she had gotten her coat, the phone had rung, so she’d stopped to answer it; talked for a couple of minutes. While the woman was on the phone, Daisy was rehearsing for a performance at the Paris Opera House. And while she was rehearsing, the woman, off the phone now, had gone outside to get a taxi. Now a taxi driver had dropped off a fare earlier and had stopped to get a cup of coffee. And all the while, Daisy was rehearsing. And this cab driver, who dropped off the earlier fare; who’d stopped to get the cup of coffee, had picked up the lady who was going to shopping, and had missed getting an earlier cab. The taxi had to stop for a man crossing the street, who had left for work five minutes later than he normally did, because he forgot to set off his alarm. While that man, late for work, was crossing the street, Daisy had finished rehearsing, and was taking a shower. And while Daisy was showering, the taxi was waiting outside a boutique for the woman to pick up a package, which hadn’t been wrapped yet, because the girl who was supposed to wrap it had broken up with her boyfriend the night before, and forgot. When the package was wrapped, the woman, who was back in the cab, was blocked by a delivery truck, all the while Daisy was getting dressed. The delivery truck pulled away and the taxi was able to move, while Daisy, the last to be dressed, waited for one of her friends, who had broken a shoelace. While the taxi was stopped, waiting for a traffic light, Daisy and her friend came out the back of the theater. And if only one thing had happened differently: if that shoelace hadn’t broken; or that delivery truck had moved moments earlier; or that package had been wrapped and ready, because the girl hadn’t broken up with her boyfriend; or that man had set his alarm and got up five minutes earlier; or that taxi driver hadn’t stopped for a cup of coffee; or that woman had remembered her coat, and got into an earlier cab, Daisy and her friend would’ve crossed the street, and the taxi would’ve driven by. But life being what it is - a series of intersecting lives and incidents, out of anyone’s control - that taxi did not go by, and that driver was momentarily distracted, and that taxi hit Daisy, and her leg was crushed.

Some people masturbate to temporarily replace their partners when they are absent, whereas some people do that to temporarily live in the present.

I don't know what bothered me more: the ménage a trios invitation or the fact that Little Miss Twig had continued slowly grinding on my soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend’s dick like a Black and Decker drill bit whilst he explained

Have a joke for me Tania," he says, "I could use a joke." "Hmm." She thinks, looks at him, looks to see where Anthony is. He's far in the back. "Okay, what about this." With a short cough she leans into Alexander and lowers her voice. "A man and his young girlfriend are driving in a car. The man has never seen his girlfriend naked. She thinks he is driving too slow, so they decide to play a game. For every five miles he goes above 50, she will take off a piece of her clothing. In no time at all, he is flying and she is naked. The man gets so excited that he loses control of the car. It veers off the road and hits a tree. She is unharmed but he is stuck in the car and can’t get out. “Go back on the road and get help,” he tells her. “But I’m naked,” she says. He rummages around and pulls off his shoe. “Here, just put this between your legs to cover yourself.” She does as she is told and runs out to the road. A truck driver, seeing a naked crying woman, stops. “Help me, Help me,” she sobs, “My boyfriend is stuck and I can’t get him out.” The Truck driver says, “Miss, if he’s that far in, I’m afraid he’s a goner.

When you're alone, you are in the right place to watch sadness approach like storm clouds over an open field. You can sit in a chair and get ready for it. As it moves through you, you can reach out your hands and feel all the edges. When it passes and you can drink coffee again you even miss it because it has been loyal to you like a boyfriend.

Something that’s bothered me for a while now is the current profligacy in YA culture of Team Boy 1 vs Team Boy 2 fangirling. [...] Despite the fact that I have no objection to shipping, this particular species of team-choosing troubled me, though I had difficulty understanding why. Then I saw it applied to Suzanne Collins’s The Hunger Games trilogy – Team Peeta vs Team Gale – and all of a sudden it hit me that anyone who thought romance and love-triangles were the main event in that series had utterly missed the point. Sure, those elements are present in the story, but they aren’t anywhere near being the bones of it, because The Hunger Games, more than anything else, is about war, survival, politics, propaganda and power. Seeing such a strong, raw narrative reduced to a single vapid argument – which boy is cuter? – made me physically angry. So, look. People read different books for different reasons. The thing I love about a story are not necessarily the things you love, and vice versa. But riddle me this: are the readers of these series really so excited, so thrilled by the prospect of choosing! between! two! different! boys! that they have to boil entire narratives down to a binary equation based on male physical perfection and, if we’re very lucky, chivalrous behaviour? While feminism most certainly champions the right of women to chose their own partners, it also supports them to choose things besides men, or to postpone the question of partnership in favour of other pursuits – knowledge, for instance. Adventure. Careers. Wild dancing. Fun. Friendship. Travel. Glorious mayhem. And while, as a woman now happily entering her fourth year of marriage, I’d be the last person on Earth to suggest that male companionship is inimical to any of those things, what’s starting to bother me is the comparative dearth of YA stories which aren’t, in some way, shape or form, focussed on Girls Getting Boyfriends, and particularly Hot Immortal Or Magical Boyfriends Whom They Will Love For All Eternity. Blog post: Love Team Freezer

I stand and grab a hefty bottle of perfume from the bathroom shelf and return to the bedroom door. It’s not much of a weapon, I know, but it’s heavy and square, and hitting someone over the head with a glass brick has got to be better than bitch-slapping them.

Aunt Jewel, I just told you that I have superpowers. That my current boyfriend is an Oracle, and my ex-boyfriend is more or less a wizard. And you want to do a little shopping? I’d hoped you wouldn’t freak out, don’t get me wrong, but I expected some freaking out.

He knew I was gay for ages," he said, his voice soft. "We both did. Since we were, like, ten or eleven, maybe. As soon as we understood what gay was, we knew that's what I was. We... We used to kiss sometimes, when we were kids. When we were alone. Just little childish kisses, little pecks on the lips because we thought it was fun. We were always... really affectionate with each other. We'd cuddle and... we were kind to each other, rather than nasty like most children. I think we were so caught up in each other that we just... missed all the heteronormative propaganda that's thrust at you when you're that age. We didn't really realize it was weird until - yeah, until we were ten or eleven. But that didn't really stop us. I guess... I guess I always felt like it was more romantic than Aled did. Aled always just treated it like it was something that friends did rather than boyfriends. Aled... he's always been weird. He doesn't care what people think. He doesn't even, like, register the social norms... he's just caught up in his own little world.

Lee Know: What are you doing? Sleeping? No it's just... I missed you that's why I called. Hyunjin: What are you!?!? Lee Know: What?! Changbin: What are you doing?! HEY! Lee Know: I'm their EX Boyfriend #1!!! Han: I'm EX BOYFRIEND 4! Changbin: I'm 2!!! Hyunjin: I'm EX BOYFRIEND 3!! Han: I'm 4!!! Lee Know: AND I'M 1!!! (bangs on wood) Lee Know: PLEASE BE QUIET!! (SHOUTING)

I don't get as much fan mail as an actor or singer would, but when I get a letter 99% of the time it's pointing out something that really had an impact. Like after 'My Own Private Rodeo' all these people wrote to me and said Dale's dad inspired them to come out. And this was when it was still illegal to be gay in Texas and a few other states. Another one that really stuck with me was this girl who survived Columbine. See, "Wings of the Dope," the episode where Luanne's boyfriend comes back as an angel, aired two weeks after the shooting. About a month after that, I got a letter from a girl who was there and hid somewhere in the school when it was all going on. She said the first thing she was gonna do if she survived was tell a friend of hers she was in love with him. She never did. He ended up being one of the kids responsible for it. So you can imagine how - you know, to her, it felt wrong to grieve almost, and she bottled it up. But she saw that episode and Buckley walking away at the end and something just let her finally break down and greive and miss the guy. I remember she quoted Luanne - 'I wonder if he's guardianing some other girl,' or something along that line, because she never had the guts to tell the kid. That really gets to people at Comic Con.

You'll just do what you did before he was your boyfriend. You'll go about your day, and you will miss him at first, but over time it will ease. It will lessen. All you need is time, and you, little one, have all the time in the world.

I look straight ahead, not answering the driver. How’s it going? It’s going fucking terribly. Mom lied my entire life about who my biological father was, I’m caught in the undertow of bulimia, I’m gonna have to do an entire press junket while missing a lower left molar, and my boyfriend’s schizophrenic. It could not be going any worse.

On Christmas morning, Dustin knocked on my door. “Miss Winters,” he said cheerfully. “Breakfast.” I didn’t move. My parents were dead. My boyfriend was dead. My grandfather had a mysterious hidden room that had books about the walking dead—which is what I knew I would feel like if I attempted to stand up. “I don’t feel well,” I said meekly, and rolled over.

You know how it is. You feel a little different because other people have two parents, even if they’re divorced. It’s like you grow up knowing that you’re missing something important that everyone else has, but you don’t know exactly what it is. I remember hearing my friends talking about how their fathers wouldn't let them stay out late or didn't like their boyfriends. It used to make me so angry because they didn't even realize what they had. Do you know what I mean?

Guys don't understand great art. They don't care that sometimes the camera has power beyond the photographer to record emotion that only the heart can see. They're threatened when the camera jumps ahead of me. Todd Kovich was pissed when I brought my Nikon to the prom, but I'd missed too many transcendent shots over the years to ever take a chance of missing one again. A prom, I told him, had a boundless supply of photogenic bozos who could be counted on to do something base.

It’s bad enough that you’re both late to my class, but you have the nerve to have a full-blown conversation,” Mr. Dineen barked, glowering at us. “Joseph, would you care to tell the class what you two are whispering about? In your native tongue, if you will, since I have spent the past six years attempting to teach you the language.” “Ceart go leor, a mhúinteoir,” my boyfriend replied with a nonchalant shrug as he replied in As Gaeilge. “Bhí mé ag rá le mo leannán go bhfuil grá agam di.” My heart slammed wildly in my chest as I mentally translated his words. Fair enough, teacher. I was telling my sweetheart that I love her. “Dúirt mé léi freisin go bhfuil cuma álainn uirthi,” Joey continued to say, not missing a beat. I also told her that she looks beautiful. Shrugging, he added, “Agus go bhfuil mo chroí istigh inti.” And that my heart is inside her. “Go hiontach,” Mr. Dineen replied, arching a brow. Impressive. “Le haghaidh buachaill nach n-éisteann sa rang.” For a boy who doesn’t listen in class. “Sea.” Joey smirked. “Tá a fhios agam.” Yeah, I know.

Never boyfriends? You've NEVER been in LOVE?" As I shake my head no, I look out the window, yearning to see Cole's sun-filled eyes again looking into mine. "Don't worry," Tiger said. "Love isn't easy- and it happens on its own time. Just hang in there. He’ll come around.

Fridays! They are the worst. Days stuffed with itsy-bitsy multicoloured tasks that fill every second of the day, but like M&M´s fail to nourish in any way.

As the red leaf warns: winter will be with us soon enough. If only I could bottle a little of this sunshine up and open it in January, like jam

It was easier to pretend I didn’t miss him. Of course, I had lost more than a friend when that happened. He was my first boyfriend, my first bad kiss and then, my first heartbreak.

The current girlfriend, boyfriend, wife, or husband is often an utterly unsuccessful attempt to stop missing or loving the previous one.

You know, hon, after Stephie died, we never really talked about her." she says, her hands tight around the cart handle. "There's a lot of pain there. Still. I guess we feel like we failed her. Like maybe if we were home instead of away at college, we could've done something to fix her. Something my patents and the doctors and her boyfriend missed. Sometimes I think I don't have the right to talk about her. Like at the end, I don't know her well enough to say anything. So much of her life became secret. She spent all of her time with her boyfriend, and when she was home, her nose was buried in her diary. I swear that diary was her best friend, even more than Megan." "Did you ever read it?" I ask. "No." "Not even after she died?" Aunt Rachel shakes her head, removing an eggplant from the middle row and pressing her fingers against its flesh. "To this day, I don't know if I would've, either. We never found it, Delilah. It's like she just…took it with her.

She told her therapist it reminded her of coming home the summer after her freshman year at Rutgers, stepping back into the warm bath of family and friends, loving it for a week or two, and then feeling trapped, dying to return to school, missing her roommates and her cute new boyfriend, the classes and the parties and the giggly talks before bed, understanding for the first time that that was her real life now, that this, despite everything she'd ever loved about it, was finished for good.

the smell of canals and cigarette smoke, all the people sitting outside the cafés drinking beer, saying their r's and g's in a way I'd never learn. I missed the future. Obviously I knew even before this recurrence that I'd never grow old with Augustus Waters. But thinking about Lidewij and her boyfriend, I felt robbed. I would probably never again see the ocean from thirty thousand feet above, so far up you can't make out the waves or any boats, so that the ocean is a great and endless monolith. I could imagine it. I could remember it. But I couldn't see it again, and it occurred to me that the voracious ambition of humans is never sated by dreams coming true, because there is always the thought that everything might be done better and again. That is probably true even if you live to be ninety.

It’d take a lot more than a quick fuck to lose me, Lockland.” He smiled and nipped my lower lip. “Plus,” I murmured, pulling back, “your cock is pretty nice. I think my ass would miss it.

Jenna had tried to cheer me up that morning, saying, "At least you have it with a hot guy." "Archer isn't hot anymore," I'd fired back. "He tried to kill me, and his girlfriend is Satan." But I have to admit that as we stood beside each other on the cellar steps and listened to the Vandy ramble on about what we were supposed to do down there, I couldn't help but sneak sideways glances at him and notice that, homicidal tendencies and evil girlfriends aside, he was still hot. As usual,his tie was loose and his shirt-sleeves were rolled up. He was watching the Vandy with this bored, vaguely amused look, arms crossed over his chest. That pose did most excellent things for his chest and arms.How unfair was it that Elodie of all people got that as a boyfriend? I mean, where is the justice when-" "Miss Mercer!" the Vandy barked, and I jumped high enough to nearly lose my balance. I clutched the banister next to me, and Archer caught my other elbow. Then he winked, and I immediately turned my attention back to the Vandy like she was the most fascinating person I'd ever seen. "Do you need me to repeat anything, Miss Mercer?" she sneered. "N-no. I got it," I stammered. She stared at me for a minute. I think she was trying to come up with a witty put-down.But the Vandy,like most mean people, was dumb, so in the end, she just sort of growled and pushed between me and Archer to stalk up the stairs. "One hour!" she called over her shoulder. The ancient door didn't so much as creak as scream in pain as she pushed it closed.

If you find yourself consistently giving too many fucks about trivial shit that bothers you—your ex-boyfriend’s new Facebook picture, how quickly the batteries die in the TV remote, missing out on yet another two-for-one sale on hand sanitizer—chances are you don’t have much going on in your life to give a legitimate fuck about. And that’s your real problem. Not the hand sanitizer. Not the TV remote.

There are men who never turn into boyfriends, who peer behind the curtain and see the mess of me—literal and figurative: the apartment with a narrow path through the clothes and trash leading from bed to bathroom; the drinking, endless drinking; the blackout sex and nightmares. “You’re kind of screwed up,” they say, at first with a laugh in their voice, an attitude of maybe this will be fun for a while, but as soon as I slur out the story—teacher, sex, fifteen, but I liked it, I miss it—they’re done. “You’ve got serious issues,” they say on their way out the door.

Break-ups are survivable. It´s the aftershocks that get you.

A reasonable looking guy with a sense of humour to go to parties with: surely that´s not too much to ask, is it?

Your relationship or marriage is dead or dying, if you almost always have to remind your partner to miss you (and/or they almost always have to remind you to miss them).

wierding me out

When I lost you, I not only lost a boyfriend, I lost my best friend.” He closed his eyes. “Ava…” “I’ve missed you,” I said, being more honest than I’d been in a long time. “So much.

When I first met Cara, she was twelve and angry at the world. Her parents had split up, her brother was gone, and her mom was infatuated with some guy who was missing vowels in his unpronounceable last name. So I did what any other man in that situation would do: I came armed with gifts. I bought her things that I thought a twelve-year-old would love: a poster of Taylor Lautner, a Miley Cyrus CD, nail polish that glowed in the dark. "I can't wait for the next Twilight movie," I babbled, when I presented her with the gifts in front of Georgie. "My favorite song on the CD is 'If We Were a Movie.' And I almost went with glitter nail polish, but the salesperson said this is much cooler, especially with Halloween coming up." Cara looked at her mother and said, without any judgment, "I think your boyfriend is gay.

Is there such a thing as a life without any regrets? I’ve never believed so. We spend our lives aiming for happiness and fulfilment in work, in love and with our friends and family, and yet often our energy is spent lamenting bad boyfriends, wrong career turns, fallouts with friends and opportunities missed. Or is that just me? I admit I’m naturally a glass-half-empty kind of girl, but I know regrets are a burden to happiness and I’m trying to let go of them because I’ve learned that it’s all about choice. You can choose to turn regrets into lessons that change your future. Believe me when I say I’m really trying to do this. But the truth is, I’m failing. Because all I can think right now is: maybe I deserve it. Maybe this is my penance.

I kissed his forehead and then his temples. I kissed every place on his face all except his lips. I got close, but never full on the lips. I gave every place on his face my full attention. Maverick quietly said to me, "You missed a spot Charlie." "I'm pretty sure I didn't," I replied. "No Charlie, you did and I'm not waiting anymore for you to give it the attention that it so desperately deserves.

We’ll have to manage this very carefully, Evie. From what I saw, it would appear that entire court wants you dead.” “Yeah, well, you know. Stopping their custom-made Empty One, stabbing their queen in the neck, breaking their mirror forest, I’m not really Miss Popularity there.” “Stabbing—You what?” “Long story. Faerie? I’d really like to hang out with my boyfriend while he’s, you know, conscious.” “Seconded,” Lend shouted.

I missed him desperately, even though he’d said he hated me, even though his anger—the rampage at his house, the X through his yearbook page, the cruel way he withdrew from everyone—scared me. I didn’t care if he wasn’t my boyfriend, or even my friend. He was my Jonah. I felt more alone without him now than I’d ever felt before I met him. My life had a hole in it.

They hang around, hitting on your friends or else you never hear from them again. They call when they’re drunk, or finally get sober, they’re passing through town and want dinner, they take your hand across the table, kiss you when you come back from the bathroom. They were your loves, your victims, your good dogs or bad boys, and they’re over you now. One writes a book in which a woman who sounds suspiciously like you is the first to be sadistically dismembered by a serial killer. They’re getting married and want you to be the first to know, or they’ve been fired and need a loan, their new girlfriend hates you, they say they don’t miss you but show up in your dreams, calling to you from the shoe boxes where they’re buried in rows in your basement. Some nights you find one floating into bed with you, propped on an elbow, giving you a look of fascination, a look that says I can’t believe I’ve found you. It’s the same way your current boyfriend gazed at you last night, before he pulled the plug on the tiny white lights above the bed, and moved against you in the dark broken occasionally by the faint restless arcs of headlights from the freeway’s passing trucks, the big rigs that travel and travel, hauling their loads between cities, warehouses, following the familiar routes of their loneliness.

Without warning, Hera had plucked up Percy Jackson, Annabeth’s boyfriend, wiped his memory, and sent him to the Roman camp. In exchange, the Greeks had gotten Jason. None of that was Jason’s fault; but every time Annabeth saw him, she remembered how much she missed Percy.

You're my missing puzzle piece," she whispers as we continue dancing. "Your puzzle piece?" I question. "I'm not broken...but before you; I was never whole, either," she clarifies. "You're the missing piece that made me whole. And now, you're the piece that keeps me from breaking.

Air travel is such a strange experience. It´s such an intimate thing, to travel alongside a stranger for so many hours, to eat together, take in a film, snooze side by side. In economy I think that it´s so intimate, that like neighbours on the same landing, most of us consider that it´s better not to take the risk of ever getting to know them. In business class, there´s just enough room - as elbows don´t actually touch - to take that chance.

There are moments in life- and I would have to admit that I don´t have them as often as I would like - when everything just comes together, and when, even being single, I feel happy, relaxed and confident. Some days, like today, I feel, as the French would say, so comfortable in my skin, that I could almost cry with the joy of being alive

When you’re alone, you are in the right place to watch sadness approach like storm clouds over an open field. You can sit in a chair and get ready for it. As it moves through you, you can reach out your hands and feel every edge. When it passes and you can drink coffee again you even miss it because it has been loyal to you like a boyfriend.

Half of them have beards too, which I´m afraid is a no-go area for me. I don´t spend half my life waxing to end up kissing a bunch of pubes.

I had to agree with one ex-boyfriend of one crackhead complainant who'd gone missing, when he told me with disdain, 'This is a whole big bunch of unbelievable!

Sometimes grasping so tightly to history makes you miss the future.

And I... Well, I sort of missed having a poet for a boyfriend.' 'I'm far from a poet.' 'Part-time then.

But to be clear, I had not, at any age, desired a specific male body in the way I did now. While all my boyfriends and crushes had been reasonably good-looking, my attraction hovered up near their face, where they kept their talent and power. Lusting for the whole length of a person, head to toe, was what body-rooted fuckers did, Jordi, and men. Now, for the first time, I understood what all the fuss was about. How something beautiful could strike your heart, move you, bring you down on your knees and then, somewhat perversely, you wanted to fuck that pure, beautiful thing. Sex was a way to have it, to not just look at it but to be with it. I suddenly understood all of classical art. The endless carved nudes, Venus in her shell, David. And sexy clothes. I had worn them without really understanding why, thinking of sexy as one of many styles, not realizing it was the only style. You should always be emerging from a shell if possible. Without knowing it, without really understanding it, I had been a body for other people but I had not gotten to have one myself. I had not participated in the infuriating pleasure of wanting a real and specific body on Earth. I lay in the center of the bed, unblinking. Wanting a body had a seriousness to it. When you said you might never recover, you really meant it. This kind of desire made a wound you just had to carry with you for the rest of your life. But this was still better than never knowing. Or I hoped it was. Because in truth it was like a bad dream, a nightmare. Life didn’t just get better and better. You could actually miss out on something and that was that. That was your chance and now it was over. I wondered if I would continue with my work and then I realized that my work was all I had now. I had gotten it completely wrong—I thought I was laboring toward a prize, but the prize was right there, I already had it, and work was something I could do afterward, after I was no longer young enough to be beautiful and could no longer be wanted by someone beautiful. — How’s

Avery McTavish - The Last Boyfriend "Insanity...She knew how to organize and stay that way. But it seemed to her all her organization skills arrowed toward work and missed her life by a mile.

SOPHIE WASN’T SURE HOW LONG she sat there staring blankly at her empty doorway. Could’ve been minutes. Could’ve been hours. It didn’t matter. No amount of time was going to quiet the chaos in her head. All it did was raise a whole lot of terrifying questions. Because even if Ro was right about Keefe’s feelings—and Sophie decided she wanted to see what would happen—this was so much bigger than just the two of them. Like… What would Grady and Edaline think? Sophie still didn’t know if she was actually allowed to date—much less date That Boy. And even if she was, there would surely be all kinds of annoying new rules and restrictions to deal with. Plus, Edaline would probably follow them around with a sappy, embarrassing smile, and Grady would make them sit through a series of horrifying Dad Talks. And what would her friends say when they found out? There’d been a time when Sophie had wondered if Biana had a crush on Keefe—and even though it seemed like Biana had gotten over it… what if she hadn’t? Better question: How would Fitz react? Keefe was Fitz’s best friend—and Fitz’s temper could be… challenging. The possibilities for drama were endless. Sophie’s insides twisted into knots on top of knots as she imagined the awkward conversations. And the stares. And the gossip. There would be So. Much. Gossip. She wanted to hide just thinking about it—and Keefe would probably love the attention. Did that prove they weren’t compatible? Or was she just looking for an excuse because she was scared? And why was she so scared? Keefe would honestly be… … … …a really awesome boyfriend. He was thoughtful. And supportive. And he could be incredibly sweet—when he was actually being serious instead of joking around with everybody. Though… maybe some of his jokes with her hadn’t just been teasing. Had some of it also been… flirting? If Ro were still there, she probably would’ve been nodding and shouting about the Great Foster Oblivion. And maybe she was right. Maybe Sophie had been too insecure to let herself see what was right in front of her. Or too distracted by her crush on Fitz. The last thought made her inner knots twist so much tighter. She’d liked Fitz for so long that she’d never even thought about liking someone else—and she was still trying to get over all of that. But… Did she want to risk missing out on something that might be… really great? Keefe’s face filled her mind, flashing his trademark smirk.

HAZEL WASN’T PROUD OF CRYING. After the tunnel collapsed, she wept and screamed like a two-year-old throwing a tantrum. She couldn’t move the debris that separated her and Leo from the others. If the earth shifted any more, the entire complex might collapse on their heads. Still, she pounded her fists against the stones and yelled curses that would’ve earned her a mouth-washing with lye soap back at St. Agnes Academy. Leo stared at her, wide-eyed and speechless. She wasn’t being fair to him. The last time the two of them had been together, she’d zapped him into her past and shown him Sammy, his great-grandfather—Hazel’s first boyfriend. She’d burdened him with emotional baggage he didn’t need, and left him so dazed they had almost gotten killed by a giant shrimp monster. Now here they were, alone again, while their friends might be dying at the hands of a monster army, and she was throwing a fit. “Sorry.” She wiped her face. “Hey, you know…” Leo shrugged. “I’ve attacked a few rocks in my day.” She swallowed with difficulty. “Frank is…he’s—” “Listen,” Leo said. “Frank Zhang has moves. He’s probably gonna turn into a kangaroo and do some marsupial jujitsu on their ugly faces.” He helped her to her feet. Despite the panic simmering inside her, she knew Leo was right. Frank and the others weren’t helpless. They would find a way to survive. The best thing she and Leo could do was carry on. She studied Leo. His hair had grown out longer and shaggier, and his face was leaner, so he looked less like an imp and more like one of those willowy elves in the fairy tales. The biggest difference was his eyes. They constantly drifted, as if Leo was trying to spot something over the horizon. “Leo, I’m sorry,” she said. He raised an eyebrow. “Okay. For what?” “For…” She gestured around her helplessly. “Everything. For thinking you were Sammy, for leading you on. I mean, I didn’t mean to, but if I did—” “Hey.” He squeezed her hand, though Hazel sensed nothing romantic in the gesture. “Machines are designed to work.” “Uh, what?” “I figure the universe is basically like a machine. I don’t know who made it, if it was the Fates, or the gods, or capital-G God, or whatever. But it chugs along the way it’s supposed to most of the time. Sure, little pieces break and stuff goes haywire once in a while, but mostly…things happen for a reason. Like you and me meeting.” “Leo Valdez,” Hazel marveled, “you’re a philosopher.” “Nah,” he said. “I’m just a mechanic. But I figure my bisabuelo Sammy knew what was what. He let you go, Hazel. My job is to tell you that it’s okay. You and Frank—you’re good together. We’re all going to get through this. I hope you guys get a chance to be happy. Besides, Zhang couldn’t tie his shoes without your help.” “That’s mean,” Hazel chided, but she felt like something was untangling inside her—a knot of tension she’d been carrying for weeks. Leo really had changed. Hazel was starting to think she’d found a good friend. “What happened to you when you were on your own?” she asked. “Who did you meet?” Leo’s eye twitched. “Long story. I’ll tell you sometime, but I’m still waiting to see how it shakes out.” “The universe is a machine,” Hazel said, “so it’ll be fine.” “Hopefully.” “As long as it’s not one of your machines,” Hazel added. “Because your machines never do what they’re supposed to.” “Yeah, ha-ha.” Leo summoned fire into his hand. “Now, which way, Miss Underground?” Hazel scanned the path in front of them. About thirty feet down, the tunnel split into four smaller arteries, each one identical, but the one on the left radiated cold. “That way,” she decided. “It feels the most dangerous.” “I’m sold,” said Leo. They began their descent.

Is there room for me to sit with y’all?” Not really, but she was, after all, Miss Teen Ragland. And my sister. “Sure,” I said. “We’ll make room.” I scrunched up next to Bird. “It’s a good thing I like you,” she whispered.

How fun it would be to bounce on the back of Lidewij Vliegenthart’s bike down the brick streets, her curly red hair blowing into my face, the smell of the canals and cigarette smoke, all the people sitting outside the cafés drinking beer, saying their r’s and g’s in a way I’d never learn. I missed the future. Obviously I knew even before his recurrence that I’d never grow old with Augustus Waters. But thinking about Lidewij and her boyfriend, I felt robbed. I would probably never again see the ocean from thirty thousand feet above, so far up that you can’t make out the waves or any boats, so that the ocean is a great and endless monolith. I could imagine it. I could remember it. But I couldn’t see it again, and it occurred to me that the voracious ambition of humans is never sated by dreams coming true, because there is always the thought that everything might be done better and again.

There were thousands of times I’d thought, He is the perfect boyfriend. But once my dad was gone, and I was furious with him but also couldn’t stop missing him, I realized I’d never thought, "Jacques is so perfectly my favorite person.

I’m going to miss all the takeout,” Jason said later, after dinner, when I walked him out to his car. “Coach said his wife cooks their meals every night.” “That’s really why you’re leaving, isn’t it?” I asked. “For real home-cooked meals?

talking about how our boyfriends always got too much hair cut off when they went to the barber. The whole time, I felt like we were two couples rather than four people, and I missed feeling like a singular entity with my friends. I felt like I was losing myself.

It’s so simple but it’s sweet, and true, and maybe that’s what I’ve been missing. Maybe not a lot else matters when things are sweet and true like this, when we’re holding hands on a roof where we’re not really supposed to be, when the sunlight is a dusky gold, when everything feels beautiful and perfect even though I know it’s not. Even though I know there’s no perfect when it comes to people, only endless irregularities: gaps and holes and sharp edges and broken pieces, but it all works anyway. Sometimes in the strangest, most beautiful ways.

And she’d also found Logan again. Now he was her … what? New-old boyfriend? Lover? Skype buddy? Pen pal with benefits? Whatever his title, his e-mails filled her inbox. Sometimes he sent five a day, short and quipping. Other times he sent longer, more serious ones. She kept her tone light when she replied. That’d always been her MO—a joke, a jab. A way to deflect from what she was really feeling. A way to keep the nonstop ache of missing him from becoming too painful to survive. And honestly, what was there to say that would come close to what she felt? The moments they’d spent together before he’d shipped out on his latest naval tour had been the most peaceful she could remember—even with her anxiety about her dad. It’d been the first time she’d felt complete in a long time. And then, just like that, he was gone again.

I’m going to miss all the takeout,” Jason said later, after dinner, when I walked him out to his car. “Coach said his wife cooks their meals every night.” “That’s really why you’re leaving, isn’t it?” I asked. “For real home-cooked meals?” He put his hands on my waist, drew me near. “If you knew how hard I found it to stay on my side of the hall last night after we finished watching the movie…” He shook his head. “Your parents absolutely wouldn’t approve of the direction that my thoughts are going. With or without your mom’s contract, I’d move out.

You’re the only boy I’ve ever kissed kissed. And you were the first. First kiss, first boyfriend, first everything! You got so many of my firsts, and I didn’t get any from you.” Sheepishly he says, “Actually that’s not entirely true.” I narrow my eyes. “What do you mean?” “There was never any girl at the beach. I made the whole thing up.” “There was no Angelina with big boobs?” “I never said she had big boobs!” “Yes you did. You told Trevor that.” “Okay, fine! Geez. You’re missing the whole point, by the way.” “What’s the whole point, Peter?” He clears his throat. “That day in McClaren’s basement. You were my first kiss too.” Abruptly I stop laughing. “I was?” “Yeah.” I stare at him. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?” “I don’t know. I guess I forgot. Also it’s embarrassing that I made up a girl. Don’t tell anybody!” I’m filled with a glowy kind of wonder. So I was Peter Kavinsky’s first kiss. How perfectly wonderful!

I was surprised to see you at practice.” “Are you kidding? I’m all about baseball.” “Really?” “Oh, yeah. Bird and I haven’t missed a Rattler practice or game since the town got the team.” “I’ve never known a girl who was that into baseball.” “Well, now you do.” Tell your friends. Step right up. Meet the most amazing girl you’ve ever known.

Free Falling" She's a good girl, loves her mama Loves Jesus and America too She's a good girl, crazy 'bout Elvis Loves horses and her boyfriend too It's a long day livin' in Reseda There's a freeway runnin' through the yard I'm a bad boy, 'cause I don't even miss her I'm a bad boy for breakin' her heart And I'm free, I'm free fallin' All the vampires walkin' through the valley Move west down Ventura Blvd All the bad boys are standing in the shadows All the good girls are home with broken hearts And I'm free, I'm free fallin' I wanna glide down over Mulholland I wanna write her name in the sky I wanna free fall out into nothin' Gonna leave this world for a while And I'm free, I'm free fallin

Obviously, he didn’t think I understood the whole ritual scene, and in truth, I didn’t. I mean, sure, when I played softball, I always chewed cinnamon-flavored gum during the game, and I never started chewing until after the national anthem. But that was different. If I didn’t do that, I missed way more balls than I caught. But home runs? There was nothing that guaranteed home runs.

Twyler linked up our phone tracking systems after we took our relationship underground. Not so we could find each other, but rather, in her words, “If I go missing or turn up dead, they’ll figure out pretty quick you were my secret boyfriend. This protects both of us.” This is what it’s like to fall for a girl obsessed with true crime. And fuck, I definitely think I’m falling for her.

But more than that, when I lost my dad . . . I mean, my dad was a liar, but I loved him. Really loved him, so much that just knowing he isn’t on this planet still tears me in half whenever I think about it.” Even as I said it, the pain pressed into me, a crushing but familiar weight on every square inch of my body. “And with Jacques,” I went on, “we loved the best versions of each other, inside our picturesque life, but once things got ugly, there was just . . . nothing left between us. He didn’t love me when I wasn’t the fairy princess, you know? And I didn’t love him anymore either. There were thousands of times I’d thought, He is the perfect boyfriend. But once my dad was gone, and I was furious with him but also couldn’t stop missing him, I realized I’d never thought, Jacques is so perfectly my favorite person.” Gus nodded. “It didn’t overwhelm you to watch him sleep.

I’m missing the need-a-boyfriend gene, but the truth is I just haven’t met anyone who…well, whom I’m attracted to, even though part of me longs for the fabled trembling knees, heart-in-my-mouth, butterflies-in-my-belly moments. Sometimes I wonder if there’s something wrong with me. Perhaps I’ve spent too long in the company of my literary romantic heroes, and consequently my ideals and expectations are far too high. But in reality, nobody’s ever made me feel like that.

Mona´s Law apparently states that everyone wants three things - that happiness is made up on three - piece jigsaw: a good relationship, a nice place to live, and a good job. And Mona´s law states that it is mathematically impossible to maintain more than two out of the three. Thus, if you have a good job and a nice flat and you meet a lovely guy, bam-you lose your job. So you change jobs and find the perfect undreamt-of work opportunity, and wham, your landlord kicks you out on the street.

And all of this leaves me wondering if this dream of mine-that out there, somewhere, hiding, there exists a guy who is cultured and calm, and smiley and faithful, who want´s to escape the rat-race with me and, apparently like the French, wear wellies and make cheese...Well, I wonder if it can possibly exist. I don´t want much...just someone who would flat on his stomach next to me in the garden watching ants carrying crumbs through the jungle of blades of grass. I wonder if that can ever exist, anywhere, for anyone.

Ceart go leor, a mhúinteoir,” my boyfriend replied with a nonchalant shrug as he replied in As Gaeilge. “Bhí mé ag rá le mo leannán go bhfuil grá agam di.” My heart slammed wildly in my chest as I mentally translated his words. Fair enough, teacher. I was telling my sweetheart that I love her. “Dúirt mé léi freisin go bhfuil cuma álainn uirthi,” Joey continued to say, not missing a beat. I also told her that she looks beautiful. Shrugging, he added, “Agus go bhfuil mo chroí istigh inti.” And that my heart is inside her.

What are you thinking about?” Jay asked as he plopped down next to her. She blinked, wondering if she was wearing her frustration on her face. “Nothing,” she lied, pushing her salad around her plate. She wasn’t sure why she didn’t just tell him. “Doesn’t look like nothing,” Jules interrupted from across the table. Violet cast a quick glare at her friend for inconveniently pointing out the obvious. “What?” Jay asked, nudging Violet with his shoulder. “Tell me.” Violet hesitated, suddenly embarrassed over her new insecurity. Yet, inside her head, she bitterly referred to Mike as “Jay’s boyfriend.” Ironically, though, it was Mike who saved Violet from having to confess those very thoughts, when he slid into an open space on the other side of the table. “What’d I miss?” His lazy smile reached all the way into his tawny-colored eyes, and even the dimples on his cheek made a fleeting appearance. Violet could see the draw for Chelsea; he was sort of stunning to look at. So then what was Jay’s excuse? She jokingly hoped it wasn’t the adorable dimple too.

The last time I’d been unwell, suicidally depressed, whatever you want to call it, the reactions of my friends and family had fallen into several different camps: The Let’s Laugh It Off merchants: Claire was the leading light. They hoped that joking about my state of mind would reduce it to a manageable size. Most likely to say, ‘Feeling any mad urges to fling yourself into the sea?’ The Depression Deniers: they were the ones who took the position that since there was no such thing as depression, nothing could be wrong with me. Once upon a time I’d have belonged in that category myself. A subset of the Deniers was The Tough Love people. Most likely to say, ‘What have you got to be depressed about?’ The It’s All About Me bunch: they were the ones who wailed that I couldn’t kill myself because they’d miss me so much. More often than not, I’d end up comforting them. My sister Anna and her boyfriend, Angelo, flew three thousand miles from New York just so I could dry their tears. Most likely to say, ‘Have you any idea how many people love you?’ The Runaways: lots and lots of people just stopped ringing me. Most of them I didn’t care about, but one or two were important to me. Their absence was down to fear; they were terrified that whatever I had, it was catching. Most likely to say, ‘I feel so helpless … God, is that the time?’ Bronagh – though it hurt me too much at the time to really acknowledge it – was the number one offender. The Woo-Woo crew: i.e. those purveying alternative cures. And actually there were hundreds of them – urging me to do reiki, yoga, homeopathy, bible study, sufi dance, cold showers, meditation, EFT, hypnotherapy, hydrotherapy, silent retreats, sweat lodges, felting, fasting, angel channelling or eating only blue food. Everyone had a story about something that had cured their auntie/boss/boyfriend/next-door neighbour. But my sister Rachel was the worst – she had me plagued. Not a day passed that she didn’t send me a link to some swizzer. Followed by a phone call ten minutes later to make sure I’d made an appointment. (And I was so desperate that I even gave plenty of them a go.) Most likely to say, ‘This man’s a miracle worker.’ Followed by: ‘That’s why he’s so expensive. Miracles don’t come cheap.’ There was often cross-pollination between the different groupings. Sometimes the Let’s Laugh It Off merchants teamed up with the Tough Love people to tell me that recovering from depression is ‘simply mind over matter’. You just decide you’re better. (The way you would if you had emphysema.) Or an All About Me would ring a member of the Woo-Woo crew and sob and sob about how selfish I was being and the Woo-Woo crew person would agree because I had refused to cough up two grand for a sweat lodge in Wicklow. Or one of the Runaways would tiptoe back for a sneaky look at me, then commandeer a Denier into launching a two-pronged attack, telling me how well I seemed. And actually that was the worst thing anyone could have done to me, because you can only sound like a self-pitying malingerer if you protest, ‘But I don’t feel well. I feel wretched beyond description.’ Not one person who loved me understood how I’d felt. They hadn’t a clue and I didn’t blame them, because, until it had happened to me, I hadn’t a clue either.

There are those survivors of disasters whose accounts never begin with the tornado warning or the captain announcing engine failure, but always much earlier in the timeline: an insistence that they noticed a strange quality to the sunlight that morning or excessive static in their sheets. A meaningless fight with a boyfriend. As if the presentiment of catastrophe wove itself into everything that came before. Did I miss some sign? Some internal twinge? The bees glittering and crawling in the crate of tomatoes? An unusual lack of cars on the road? The question I remember Donna asking me in the bus— casually, almost as an afterthought. “You ever hear anything about Russell?” The question didn’t make sense to me. I didn’t understand that she was trying to gauge how many of the rumors I’d heard: about orgies, bout frenzied acid trips and teen runaways forced to service older men. Dogs sacrificed on moonlit beaches, goat heads rotting in the sand. If I’d had friends besides Connie, I might’ve heard chatter of Russell at parties, some hushed gossip in the kitchen. Might’ve known to be wary. But I just shook my head. I hadn’t heard anything.

We have treaties with some vampire tribes. And we also have several more departments, at the academy and at the college. And in the League at large as well. Things like Tech and Supernatural Studies." "What about Vampire Relations?" I asked. Especially with the local newspapers now reporting on the increase in missing persons. Apparently the last time something like this happened was in the eighties. "We need that. I could totally do that." "Making out with your hot boyfriend doesn't count toward your grade," Jenna teased. I shook my head. "I knew this place was all wrong.

If you find yourself consistently giving too many fucks about trivial shit that bothers you - you ex-boyfriend's new Facebook picture, how quickly the batteries die in the TV remote, missing out on yet another two-for-one sale on hand sanitizer- chances are you don't have much going on in your life to give a legitimate fuck about. And that's your real problem. Not the hand sanitizer. Not the TV remote. I once heard an artist say that when a person has no problems, the mind automatically finds a way to invent some. I think what most people - especially educated, pampered middle-class white people - consider "life problems" are really just side effects of not having anything more important to worry about.

Adele took her place in front of the audience and began to sing. "Miss Eyre, perhaps you can tell me what he's saying?" Mrs. Fairfax said. "The only other person in the house who speaks French is the master, and he hates to translate anymore." Jane glanced at Mr. Rochester, but he stared straight ahead. Jane listened to the song. "The first few lines are about a famous dancer ... in a club ... She wore flowers in her hair and a dress that ... oh." Adele sang in detail about how much the dress covered. Or didn't cover. Jane blushed and glanced at Mr. Rochester, searching for a reaction to the scandalous lyrics. But he just listened. Not scandalized. "So, yes, the dancer wore a dress," Jane continued, with slightly less detail. "And she was in love with a ... dealer. Of cards. And at night, they ... oh my." Adele sang of a very special hug. Jane's cheeks flamed. "Perhaps Mr. Rochester should translate." She turned to Mr. Rochester, who coughed. He waved his hand. "Please continue, Miss Eyre. You're doing such a fine job." Now Adele sang of the woman's roving eye, and another man visiting while her lover was away. "They continued to love each other," Jane said quickly, maybe a bit desperately. In the last verse, the boyfriend found out about her infidelity, and stabbed the dancer and her other lover. "That escalated quickly," said Helen. She also spoke French, but no one had asked her to translate. "And they both lived happily ever after," Jane blurted. She was going to have to teach Adele some new songs.

In one slick move, he shoves his phone in his pocket and grabs me so we’re in front of the cabinet. His hand slides around the back of my neck, and before I can panic, he kisses me hard. Momentarily caught off guard, I just throw my arms around his neck and press my body against his. His kiss deepens until our tongues are twisting together, and I’m reminded of just how great a kisser he is. The lights flicker on, and Grayson pulls away from me with a grunt. I’m so flustered, it takes me a few seconds to collect myself enough to see a man wearing a suit and a hotel name badge eyeing us. “Excuse me, Mr. Cole, I’m afraid this office is off-limits for guests,” he says. I glance at Grayson and have to stop myself from laughing at the shade of my lipstick he’s now wearing. Grayson doesn’t miss a beat; he just grabs my hand and tugs me across the room. “I won’t mention this if you don’t,” he says as we pass by the hotel porter. I try for a sheepish smile as we walk past him. “Sorry,” I mouth. As we make it out to the hallway, a half-smothered giggle escapes before I can stop it. “You should probably go to the men’s room before you go back to the party.” A smile creases his lipstick-smeared mouth before he swipes his hand over it. “Yeah. This isn’t really my shade.” I snort a laugh and try to laugh off the kiss. But as I head back to the party, I’m well aware that kiss has only stirred a desire for another one. Not only that but as I pull my mirror out to check my own face, I realize something I didn’t in the heat of the moment. ​There was nothing fake about that kiss.

But I'm pretty sure Mom won't consent to a field trip across the country with my hot boyfriend. Especially not back to Florida." I clamp my mouth shut so fast my teeth should be chipped. He grins. "You think I'm hot?" "My mom thinks you are." Except, Mom's not the one blushing right now. "Hmm," he says, giving me a you're-busted look. "As hot as I am, I don't think she'd buy into my charm on this one. We'll have to call in a professional." Then that fish prince actually winks at me. "You mean Rachel," I say, toeing the sand. "I guess it's worth a shot. Don't expect much, though. I've already missed too much school." "We could fly down on the weekend. Be back before school on Monday." I nod. "She might go for that. If Rachel plays her cards right." Yeah, she might go for that. She might also pierce her tongue, dye her hair cherry red and spike it peacock-style. Ain't happening. I shrug. "I'll just keep practicing while you're gone. Maybe we don't have to go-" "No!" Galen and Toraf shout, startling me. "Why not? I won't go too deep-" "Out of the question," Galen says, standing. "You will not get in the water while I'm gone." I stomp a hole in the sand. "I already told you that you're not ordering me around, didn't I? Now you've pretty much guaranteed that I'm getting in the water, Your Highness." Galen runs a hand through his hair and utters a string of cuss words, courtesy of Rachel, no doubt. he paces in the sane a few seconds, pinching the bridge of his nose. Suddenly he stops. Relaxes. Smiles even. He walks over to his friend, slaps him on the back. "Toraf, I need a favor.

I loooves free,” Ethan said. “Don’t we all, man,” Mac said. He looked at me, rubbing his fingers together. “Until we make the majors, we’re poor.” “Aren’t most college students?” I asked. “Yep. So we have movies, free music, what else?” “Library, free books,” I offered. All the guys laughed really loudly, like that was the funniest thing they’d ever heard. But it was a good-natured laugh, not like they were making fun of me. Like maybe they thought I was really clever to offer free books. “My kid sister has this book called Free Stuff,” Mac said. “She sends away for all this junk: stickers, posters, booklets. She just loves getting mail.” “You guys must miss your families in the summer.” “Miss ’em all the time.” I didn’t ask why they didn’t go home for summer because I knew the answer: They loooves baseball.

Kayla’s friend, the one who filmed the TikTok LIVE of the car accident, is out of the hospital and is doing school talks about road safety, together with Kayla’s boyfriend, the overly tall skinny boy from the plane. It’s a way of honoring Kayla, but it seems like they are also dating. They will probably have a baby one day and name it Kayla, or at least make Kayla the second name, which is nice, beautiful even, but it’s also kind of shit, because it proves when you’re gone you’re really gone, and everyone else will keep on having lives, feeling sad about you but also having fun, and your best friend might miss you but she might also date your boyfriend, which you can’t complain about because you’re not there, and Eve feels like there is some life lesson there. Maybe it’s just: Live your life, Eve. Live it hard.

Lend stood up, shouldering his duffel bag, as I walked back into the living room. “Where do you think you’re going?” I snatched his coat away and held it. He just got here. There was no way I was letting him go anywhere else. “I happen to have very important things to do.” “What on earth is more important than watching Easton Heights??” “Christmas shopping for you?” I dropped the coat into his arms and opened the door. “Take your time.” “Glad to know I’ll be missed.” “Have fun!” I leaned up and kissed him hard, then shoved him out and sat back on the couch with a sloppy smile on my face. “Best boyfriend ever.” “Shut. Up. Now.” Arianna didn’t move, eyes fixed on the television. A firm knock sounded on the door. “And tell Lend he can just walk in already!” “Did you forget something?” I said as I opened the door, surprised to see a short black woman in a suit. And not Lend pretending to be one, either.

Trina, I never expected to fall in love again. I thought I got my shot, and I was okay with that, because I had my girls. I didn’t realize anything was missing. Then came you.” Ms. Rothschild’s hands are covering her mouth. She has tears in her eyes. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you, Trina.” Ms. Rothschild starts choking on her candy, and Daddy leaps up off his knee and starts pounding her on the back. She’s coughing like crazy. From his tree Peter whispers, “Should I go do the Heimlich on her? I know how to do it.” “Peter, my dad’s a doctor!” I whisper back. “He’s got it.” As her coughing subsides, she stands up straight and wipes her eyes. “Wait. Were you asking me to marry you?” “I was trying to,” Daddy says. “Are you all right?” “Yes!” She claps her hands to her cheeks. “Yes, you’re all right, or yes, you’ll marry me?” Daddy asks her, and he’s only half kidding. “Yes, I’ll marry you!” she screams, and Daddy reaches for her, and they kiss. “This feels private,” I whisper to Kitty. “It’s all part of the show,” she whispers back. Daddy hands Ms. Rothschild the ring box. I can’t quite make out what he says next, but whatever it was, it makes her double over laughing. “What’s he saying?” Kitty asks me, just as Peter says, “What did he say?” “I can’t hear! Both of you be quiet! You’re ruining the video!” Which is when Ms. Rothschild looks over in our direction. Shoot. We all pop back behind our respective trees, and then I hear Daddy’s wry voice call out, “You can come out, guys. She said yes!” We run out from behind the trees; Kitty launches herself into Ms. Rothschild’s arms. They fall over onto the grass, and Ms. Rothschild is laughing breathlessly, her laughter echoing through the woods. I hug Daddy, and meanwhile Peter’s still playing videographer, recording the moment for posterity like the good boyfriend he is. “Are you happy?” I ask, looking up at my dad. His eyes brimming with tears, he nods and hugs me tighter. And just like that, our little family grows bigger.

I threw my binder of materials down on our apartment’s floral couch. “Seriously, pink is a neutral color! And what’s elegant about navy blue? No one ever says, ‘Hey, you know what’s elegant? The Navy!’” Arianna rolled her dead guys. “There is nothing neutral about pink. They need a color that looks good as a background to any shade of dress.” “What color clashes with pink?” “Orange?” “Well, if anyone shows up in an orange dress, she deserves to clash. Yuck.” “Chill out. You can do a lot with navy.” I sank down into the couch next to her. “I guess. I could do navy with silver accents. Stars?” “Yawn.” “Snowflakes?” “Gee, now you’re getting creative for a winter formal.” I ignored her tone, as usual. I was just glad she was here. She’d been gone a lot lately. “Hmm . . . maybe something softer. Like a water and mist theme?” I asked. “I . . . actually kind of like that.” “Wanna help me with the sketches?” She leaned forward and turned on Easton Heights. “Decorating a stupid dance is all yours. You’re the one who decided to be more involved in your ‘normal life.’ I’d prefer to be sleeping six feet under.” “This is probably a bad time to mention I also might have signed up to help with costumes for the spring play. And since I know nothing about sewing, I kind of maybe signed you up as a volunteer aide.” She sighed, running one glamoured corpse hand through her spiky red and black hair. “I am going to kill you in your sleep.” “As long as it doesn’t hurt.” We hummed along to the opening theme, which ended when the door banged open and my boyfriend walked through, shrugging out of his coat and beaming as he dropped a duffel bag. “Free! What did I miss?” Lend asked, his cheeks rosy from the cold and his smile lighting up his watery eyes beneath his dark glamour ones. “I lost the vote on color schemes for the dance, the last episode of Easton Heights before they go into reruns is back on in three minutes, and Arianna is going to murder me in my sleep.” “As long as it doesn’t hurt.” “That’s what I said!

Hiya, Alex. I missed you tonight." My gaze rests on Sam. "Yeah, I see how much you missed me." "Sam? Oh, I don't really like him," she coos, coming close. I can smell the mota radiating off her. "I'm waiting for you to come back to me." "Not gonna happen." "Is it because of your stupid chemistry partner?" She grabs ray chin, trying to force me to look at her, her long nails digging into my skin. I grab both her wrists and pull them aside, all the time wondering how my tough-as-nails ex-girlfriend turned into a tough-as-nails bitch. "Brittany has nothin' to do with you and me. I hear you've been talkin' shit to her." "Did Isa tell you that?" she asks, her eyes narrowed into slits. "Just back off," I say, ignoring her question, "or you'll have a lot more to deal with than a bitter ex-boyfriend." "Are you bitter, Alex? Because you don't act bitter. You act like you don't give a shit." She's right. After I found her sleeping around, it took me a while to get over it, get over her. I wondered what other guys were giving her that I couldn't. "I used to give a shit," I tell her. "I don't now.

I shuffled my weight from foot to foot, trying to relieve some of the soreness and wondering how long it would take Reth to figure out where I was and get into Raquel’s room. The door slid open in reply. Jack and I darted in, letting out twin sighs of relief. Lend, of course, immediately dropped to the floor. Naked, still. I doubted Raquel had anything in his size. “He was rather upset waking up in the Faerie Paths with me,” Reth said. “I can’t imagine.” I quickly scanned Raquel’s austere living room area. “There, help me get him into that closet.” Jack grabbed an arm and we dragged my poor boyfriend across the floor and shoved him into the tiny coat closet next to Raquel’s vacuum. I added watching Lend walk to the things I missed most about him. We closed the door and after a few moments a loud thunk sounded. “What the—Where am I? Evie?” “Right here,” I said, tapping on the door. “You’re in a closet in Raquel’s unit.” “Why?” “Because I’m going to search the rest of her place and I didn’t want you to risk brain damage by any more unconscious falls.” He muttered something unintelligible but distinctly grouchy and I turned, quickly scanning the room.

But wait, stop, it’s not supposed to end this way! You’re the fantasy, you’re what I’m leaving behind. I can’t pack you up and take you with me.” “That was the most self-centered thing I’ve ever heard you say.” Jane blinked. “It was?” “Miss Hayes, have you stopped to consider that you might have this all backward? That in fact you are my fantasy?” The jet engines began to whir, the pressure of the cabin stuck invisible fingers into her ears. Henry gripped his armrest and stared ahead as though trying to steady the machine by force of will. Jane laughed at him and settled into her seat. It was a long flight. There would be time to get more answers, and she thought she could wait. Then in that moment when the plane rushed forward as though for its life, and gravity pushed down, and the plane lifted up, and Jane was breathless inside those two forces, she needed to know now. “Henry, tell me which parts were true.” “All of it. Especially this part where I’m going to die…” His knuckles were literally turning white as he held tighter to the armrests, his eyes staring straight ahead. The light gushing through the window was just right, afternoon coming at them with the perfect slant, the sun grazing the horizon of her window, yellow light spilling in. She saw Henry clearly, noticed a chicken pox scar on his forehead, read in the turn down of his upper lip how he must have looked as a pouty little boy and in the faint lines tracing away from the corners of his eyes the old man he’d one day become. Her imagination expanded. She had seen her life like an intricate puzzle, all the boyfriends like dominoes, knocking the next one and the next, an endless succession of falling down. But maybe that wasn’t it at all. She’d been thinking so much about endings, she’d forgotten to allow for the possibility of a last one, one that might stay standing. Jane pried his right hand off the armrest, placed it on the back of her neck and held it there. She lifted the armrest so nothing was between them and held his face with her other hand. It was a fine face, a jaw that fit in her palm. She could feel the whiskers growing back that he’d shaved that morning. He was looking at her again, though his expression couldn’t shake off the terror, which made Jane laugh. “How can you be so cavalier?” he asked. “Tens of thousands of pounds expected to just float in the air?” She kissed him, and he tasted so yummy, not like food or mouthwash or chapstick, but like a man. He moaned once in surrender, his muscles relaxing. “I knew I really liked you,” he said against her lips. His fingers pulled her closer, his other hand reached for her waist. His kisses became hungry, and she guessed that he hadn’t been kissed, not for real, for a long time. Neither had she, as a matter of fact. Maybe this was the very first time. There was little similarity to the empty, lusty making out she’d played at with Martin. Kissing Henry was more than just plain fun. Later, when they would spend straight hours conversing in the dark, Jane would realize that Henry kissed the way he talked--his entire attention taut, focused, intensely hers. His touch was a conversation, telling her again and again that only she in the whole world really mattered. His lips only drifted from hers to touch her face, her hands, her neck. And when he spoke, he called her Jane. Her stomach dropped as they fled higher into the sky, and they kissed recklessly for hundreds of miles, until Henry was no longer afraid of flying.

Another way, I think, is to be somehow trapped by your pain. Being stopped in your tracks. Never, in a sense, being able to escape your pain. Never being able to move on out of it into whatever lies beyond. I think a classic example of that would be the character Miss Havisham in Charles Dickens’s Great Expectations. Miss Havisham was at an early age all set to be married. She had on her bridal finery, and the great wedding cake was there in the parlor. Then her boyfriend jilted her, and that was the end of her life. From that day on, she lived in that room, wearing her tattered, moldering wedding clothes, with the cake still there, a sort of ruined pile on the table with cobwebs and mice. And I think I’ve known people like that, who have been somehow trapped in their pain. It becomes their confinement. It becomes like the room to the cricket—it can’t get out of it. You keep living it over and over and over again, almost relishing the bitterness of it. So you deal with your pain by allowing it to overwhelm you, by allowing it to stop you in your tracks. And I suppose it’s also a way of surviving your pain, because as in the case of Miss Havisham, you take a kind of grim, awful pleasure in your ruin.

my boyfriend drives a lil bucket when it rain it fills up with rain my boyfriend he gon pick me up don't distract him at the wheel in his lane he's the only one my boyfriend he misses me when i'm gone so he don't forget me there's a song he sings calms his nerve, endings my boyfriend is friendly and we don't want no problems i could say that i'm happy they let me and my boyfriend become married i could say that i'm happy but cross my heart i didn't notice hope to die no never, we voted me and my boyfriend cast our ballot every kiss reads like a poem making wrongs right like a poem i couldn't say i dream of you because my dreams are filled with no one and all is lost me and my boyfriend we found we don't hope for beyonds at all me and my boyfriend spend time and that's all i'm holding on this time we got permission nothing's above condition but this ain't a thang it's a mission can't join the band so sing along me and my boyfriend got it going on sleep with fans and t shirts on asleep in vans your legs all strewn across my lap tan lines where your watch was strapped you took off to make time cut your hair you left it long i love to stare there's nothing wrong and if i die while i'm asleep i pray to God my boyfriend keeps my secret peace

Love is hourly, too. There are stories about people who have loved someone forever after laying eyes on them for a few minutes and then nevermore, but these stories have not happened to anyone we know. No, when you love someone you spend hours and hours with them, and even the mightiest forces in the netherworld could not say whether the hours you spend increase your love or if you simply spend more hours with someone as your love increases. And when the love is over, when the diner of love seems closed from the outside, you want all those hours back, along with anything you left at the lover's house and maybe a couple of things which aren't technically yours on the grounds that you wasted a portion of your life and those hours have all gone southside. Nobody can make this better, it seems, nothing on the menu. It's like what the stewardess offers, even in first class. They come with towels, with drinks, mints, but they never say, "Here's the five hours we took from you when you flew across the country to New York to live with your boyfriend and then one day he got in a taxicab and he never came back, and also you flew back, another five hours, to San Francisco, just in time for a catastrophe." And so you sit like a spilled drink, those missing hours in you like an ache, and you hear stories that aren't true and won't bring anyone back.

I’m going to miss all the takeout,” Jason said later, after dinner, when I walked him out to his car. “Coach said his wife cooks their meals every night.” “That’s really why you’re leaving, isn’t it?” I asked. “For real home-cooked meals?” He put his hands on my waist, drew me near. “If you knew how hard I found it to stay on my side of the hall last night after we finished watching the movie…” He shook his head. “Your parents absolutely wouldn’t approve of the direction that my thoughts are going. With or without your mom’s contract, I’d move out.” “I can’t believe she did that.” He grinned. “Yeah, it was that first night, after she came out of your room.” “Weren’t you offended?” “How could I be? I started falling for you as soon as you bumped into me. I knew I could be a goner so easily.” “Really?” “Oh, yeah. And when I pictured you in shoulder pads and a helmet--” I shoved his shoulder. “You did not!” “Oh, yeah, I did. And I thought, of all the girls in this town, she is the one that I absolutely can’t find fascinating.” “Is that the reason you sounded like you really didn’t want to take me home after that first night of pizza?” “Yep. I wanted to limit contact. I was trying so hard not to fall for you.” “Well, that’s why I knocked you over,” I said. He laughed. “Will you still come play ball with Dad?” “Sure. But you have to play, too.” I smiled. “Okay.” It was so, so hard--a dozen kisses later--watching him leave. But at least I knew he’d be back.

Kate turned on her heel and walked out. Before she was halfway across the hall, though, Bunny had jumped up from the couch and come after her. “Are you saying we can’t see each other anymore?” she asked. “He’s just visiting me at my house! We’re not going out on dates or anything.” “The guy must be twenty years old,” Kate told her. “You don’t find anything wrong with that?” “So? I’m fifteen years old. A very mature fifteen.” “Don’t make me laugh,” Kate told her. “You’re just jealous,” Bunny said. She was following Kate through the dining room now. “Just because you have to settle for Pyoder—” “His name is Pyotr,” Kate said through her teeth. “You might as well learn to pronounce it right.” “Well, la-di-da to you, Miss Frilling-Your-rs. At least I didn’t have to rely on my father to find me a boyfriend.” By the time she was saying this, they had reached the kitchen. The two men glanced over at them, surprised. “Your daughter is a jerk,” Bunny told their father. “I beg your pardon?” “She is a snoopy, jealous, meddlesome jerk, and I refuse to—and now look!” Her attention had been snagged by something outside the window. The rest of them turned to see Edward slinking past with his shoulders hunched, veering beneath the redbud tree to cross to his own house. “I hope you’re satisfied,” Bunny told Kate. “Why is it,” Dr. Battista asked Pyotr, “that whenever I’m around women for any length of time, I end up asking, ‘What just happened here?’ ” “That is extremely sexist of you,” Pyotr said sternly. “Don’t blame me,” Dr. Battista said. “I base the observation purely on empirical evidence.

Good game,” someone said, patting my shoulder. “Thanks,” I said, laughing. Then I felt arms come around me and pull me close. “Hey,” Jason said, kissing my neck before parking his chin on my shoulder. Smiling brightly, I turned around in his arms. “Great game.” “Thanks.” “You hit a home run,” I said, like maybe he hadn’t realized it. “I know it seems odd, considering how long I’ve played baseball, but I’ve never hit one before,” he said. “But I knew, I knew as soon as I felt the bat make contact with the ball, that it was going to go out of the park. I don’t know if it sounded different or felt different, but I just knew.” “You did look stunned out there.” “I was. Like I said, I’d never done that before. I mean, hitting has never been my strength.” “It was tonight.” I reached up and kissed his chin. “I need to figure out what it was I did that made me hit the home run.” “You connected the bat to the ball.” “No, it was more than that. Something I did before the game, maybe--” “No, no, no,” I said, lifting myself up onto my toes so I could look directly into his eyes. “There was no thing you did other than keeping your eye on the ball and hitting at the precise moment when the impact would send the ball over the fence.” “I’m not so sure.” “Okay, you want to know what it was? It was having me for a girlfriend--” He put his hand behind my head and kissed me to shut me up. Obviously, he didn’t think I understood the whole ritual scene, and in truth, I didn’t. I mean, sure, when I played softball, I always chewed cinnamon-flavored gum during the game, and I never started chewing until after the national anthem. But that was different. If I didn’t do that, I missed way more balls than I caught. But home runs? There was nothing that guaranteed home runs. Jason drew back. “Maybe it is having you for a girlfriend.” “I was kidding.” “I’m not.

I missed you," I said. "Missed you, too. Welcome home." We moved in to hug each other, then I sprang back seconds before getting smushed against his still-sopping-wet sweater. "Ben!" "Ooh, poor form on my part," he said, and peeled off his sodden sweater. He wore a thin white T-shirt underneath. The coffee spill had left the shirt a bit damp, and it clung slightly to his chest in a way that made me stare and caught my voice in my throat. That was ridiculous, of course. Ben and I had the kind of friendship where we talked about things like that. I could tease him about his suddenly well-toned body; he'd make some kind of self-effacing joke and parry by bringing up something absurd he'd seen about me in a magazine... But I didn't say a word. And I didn't stop looking. Clearly I was in a sleep-deprived haze. "You could still try the coffee," he offered. "There's plenty in the sweater. I can just wring it right into the mug." I shook off my reverie. "Tempting offer, but no thanks. You really need to give up on the coffee thing. I'm never converting from tea." "We'll see," he said. He set the wet sweater on the hand towel, then turned to me with his arms out. "Better?" "Much," I said, and closed the distance between us so he could fold me into his arms. "Hel-lo! Please tell me I'm interrupting something!" It was Rayna, and at the sound of her voice, Ben and I sheepishly pulled apart. Again, ridiculous. Hugging was nothing unusual for us. Granted, Ben was usually wearing more than a thin T-shirt at the time... "Why is it I'm hearing no one when they come into the house?" "Big house," Rayna said. "Come on-my mom's throwing us a welcome home party at our place." "Tonight?" I asked. "Immediately. Unless I can tell my mom there are...extenuating circumstances." She said the last part with a leer that lingered on Ben's chest and made him blush. Rayna's entire family had spent the last two years dying for Ben and me to get together. They seemed to be under the impression that my parents hired him to be my boyfriend, not my international adviser.

In less than a week, Harvard was going to call on his darling Neil and explain how sorry he was for all his imaginary offenses, and Neil would say that he’d only been put off by Harvard’s awful best friend. Then Harvard would realize everything had been Aiden’s fault all along, and also Neil would tell Harvard that he missed him, and they would get back together. Aiden would have to pretend he was happy for them. This was one of a very few, very precious days, like fairy gold turning to dust and leaves as they slipped through his fingers. And Aiden was wasting it by being sick and disgusting. “Sorry for being gross,” Aiden murmured into his pillow. “Hey, no,” said Harvard. “You’re still really cute.” Aiden scoffed into the pillow, which turned into more coughing. Harvard patted him on the back. Harvard was so good at this boyfriend thing it was ridiculous. He was screwing up the boyfriend curve for all other boyfriends. That was why Aiden didn’t want any of the others. He felt horrible and unpleasantly hot, and he could only bear this when Harvard was with him. Most of life was generally unfair and unpleasant, but it was all right if Harvard was there. “Stay with me until I go to sleep,” Aiden murmured, willfully forgetting that lunch was over and Harvard should go to class. For Aiden, Harvard would usually break the rules. “If you want me to,” Harvard murmured back. Aiden was ill and miserable and unguarded enough to whisper, “I never want anything but you.” “Okay.” Harvard laughed quietly, kindly. “I think the cough syrup has made you a little loopy.” Aiden wanted to be angry with Harvard for never understanding, but thank God Harvard didn’t. Besides, Aiden never could entirely manage to be angry with him. The emotion wouldn’t coalesce in Aiden’s chest, always collapsing in on itself and changing into different feelings. As Aiden slid into sleep, like tumbling beneath a blanket of darkness, he felt an awareness even with his eyes closed that someone was stooping over him, like an intuition of a shadow, and then the soft press of Harvard’s lips against Aiden’s forehead. More a blessing than a kiss.

Hi again ! My fav quote from "Kisses from Katie " By Katie J Davis frm page 174 As an 8 year old ,when I first started hearing Céline Dion’s songs, I did not realize that she was almost always singing about someone she is sooooo desperately in love with ! She has such longing and such agony as she is away from her lover .But now a I feel so much longing for my boyfriend whom Im losing .I see a lesson in this : I think the way Celine Dion feels about her lover is the way God must feel about the church ,which in some ways seems to have strayed so far from Him . I think God allowed me to REALLY MISS my boyfriend so I could catch a tiny glimpse of what God’s heart must feel as the church strays into religion and away from things that are so important to Him like helping the impoverished, unwanted people of the world . He longs and desires for my heart to come back to Him each and every minute of each and every day . God so deeply ,passionately , desperately loves us . He intensely longs for his lover to come back to his teachings of giving all we a have to Him ,our beloved , who lives in the hearts of the suffering poor people of this world and unite as a community in an effort to serve HIM in Them and I am so awed by his love for me .I feel so precious and dear to him that He is singing to me even more longingly and passionately than Celine Dion sings to her lover. That is pretty WONDERFUL !!! Satan is not a fan of God our love affair with God and so Satan is battling every day to keep us from giving our hearts to God. I am becoming more keenly aware than ever before of this battle between God and Satan to claim my heart . The devil tricks us into giving our hearts to materialistically selfish desires: wanting more and more for ourselves so we forget Love for God and our neighbor. So that we trade our noble inheritance : the precious treasure of LOVE God wants to shower on us which no money or processions can buy for more ME ME ME . No where in the bible does it say I deserve a reward (boy friend and material abundance ) here on this earth but it does say that I will have a joy so great that it is greater than all good things of this world combined . Colossians 3:23 says “Whatever work you do do it with all your heart (it does not say “and after this work you deserve a long hot bath and some me time “ it does say “Serve with all your heart since you KNOW that you will receive an in heritance in heaven from the Lord as a reward “ …And we KNOW in our hearts that God is ALL we need to overflow with joy …. (Matthew 19-21 says Do not lay up for your selves treasures in this world where moth and rust doth corrupt …..but lay up for yourselves treasure (Love for God )which will be yours for eternity “ Bless you , Dari

Kode’s older sister, Kira, was leaning over a display of jewelry, fisting a jade-green necklace in one hand. Her nose was two inches from the Braetic across the table, the two exchanging intimidating glares. Eena watched for a few seconds as Kira all but crawled over a pile of merchandise, her face scrunched up with resentment, yet enviably stunning as always. “Hey Kode,” the young queen whispered. “Hey, girl.” “What’s going on?” “Kira’s bartering.” Eena watched the fistful of necklace come within a whisker of smacking the merchant’s nose. “She isn’t going to hurt the guy, is she?” Kode snorted on a chuckle. “Not if the dude’s got any sense.” Validly concerned, Eena inched closer to the confrontation, straining to hear their growled dialogue. Kode and Niki crept closer too. Efren, however, stayed where he was, testing the flagpole’s ability to support his body weight. They watched the feisty Mishmorat hold up a small pouch and shake it in front of the Braetic’s eyes. Kira’s fingers curled like claws around the purse. She seemed to smirk for a second when the merchant flinched. In a blink he was back in her face again, shoving aside the purse. “What is she trying to trade?” Eena asked, her voice still hushed as though she might disturb the haggling taking place across the way. “Viidun coins,” Kode said. “Ef gave ‘em to her.” “Are they worth much?’ Kode grinned wryly, “He sure as hell don’t freakin’ think so.” Eena foresaw Niki’s disapproving smack to the back of Kode’s head before he even finished his sentence. He cursed at his girlfriend for the physical abuse, an unwise response that earned him an additional thump on the head. “Freakin’ tyrant,” Kode grumbled. “Vulgar grogfish,” Niki retorted. Still unable to hear well enough to satisfy her curiosity, Eena stole in closer to the scene of heated bartering. She stopped when Kira’s strong voice carried over the murmur of the crowd. Kode and his girlfriend were right on her heels. “This purse is worth ten of those gaudy necklaces. You oughta be payin’ me to take ‘em off your hands, Braetic!” “That alien money is worthless to me, Mishmorat. In all my life I’ve never left Moccobatran soil. And even if I were to take an interstellar trip someday, you’d never catch the likes of me on a barbarian planet like Rapador!” Kira jerked her head, causing her black, cascading hair to ripple over her shoulder. The action made the trader flinch again. His eyes tapered, appearing to fume over what he perceived as intentional bullying. “You ain’t gonna sell this crap to no one else,” the exotic Mishmorat said. “Be smart and take the money. Hell, you could make a dozen pieces of jewelry from these coins. Sell ’em all for ten times the worth of anything you got here.” The Braetic shoved his finger at Kira’s chest, breathing down her throat at the same time. “Why don’t you just take your pretty little backside away from my table and make your own Viidun jewelry. Sell it yourself and then come back with a reasonable offer for my necklace.” His palm opened flat, demanding she hand over the jade stones still in her fist. “You wanna make me?” Kira breathed. “What do you plan to do, steal it?” The merchant challenged her in a gesture, nostrils flaring. “I’m no thief, but I’m not above beating some sense into you ‘til you choose to barter like a respectable Braetic!” Caught up in the intense interaction, Kode supported his sister a little too loudly. “Teach the freakin’ crook a lesson, Sis!” Niki smacked her boyfriend upside the head without missing a beat.

A week passed after the weekend of our big championship win and our kiss, and didn't speak to Phil at all. Since hockey was over, we didn't see each other at practices or games, and he seemed to be avoiding me at school. And I really missed him.

I held my breath, because I wanted to be his no one. The person he had all sorts of first shares with. But more than that, I wanted to be here and hear him in this moment and not be so caught up in my own daydreams and swoons that I missed the reality. I'd done that before. More and more I was realizing how often I'd done that: projected the Toby in my head onto the guy beside me instead of appreciating the flawed and fantastic person he was.

Do you know how, sometimes, during a commercial break in your favorite television shows, your best friend calls and wants to talk about one of her boyfriends, and when you try to hang up, she starts crying and you try to cheer her up and end up missing about half of the episode? And so when you go to work the next day, you have to get the guy who sits next to you to explain what happened? That’s the good thing about a book. You can mark your place in a book. But this isn’t really a book. It’s a television show.

So,” Phoenix whispers. “You don’t mind another boyfriend with missing body parts, right?

She’s been looking for one of our campers, who’s been missing three days,” Butch said. “She’s going out of her mind with worry. She hoped he’d be here.” “Who?” Jason asked. “Her boyfriend,” Butch said. “A guy named Percy Jackson.

Wow, you two have been busy since I've been gone. What else did I miss?" I ask. "Oh, nothing. I got a boyfriend at school. But Juliet says that we can't get married until I ask you first." I choke on my own saliva when she says it. What? A boyfriend. She's five. She's not dating until she's at least thirty five and honestly, even then it would be too soon. "Uh, Bug, no boyfriends. Sorry.

chew on my lip. I failed seventh grade because Mom’s boyfriend at the time was beating me senseless and I missed too much school. He was arrested for robbing a store a few months later, so I passed the second time. And I met Will around then too. That helped. “You sure are nosy, aren’t you?

Boyfriend: I miss you babe, I can’t wait to see you again. Woah Potato!!! Lol!! Boyfriend: Damn Autocorrect, I meant woohoo!! Boyfriend: But I think I like it. Woah Potato

I also bought an evening dress suit from a secondhand clothing store in Charing Cross Road. It was double-breasted and in a very heavy, uncomfortable material, and I looked, frankly, stupid in it, but it was the only one I could afford. Miss Leigh announced to us one day that Gone with the Wind was going to be rereleased theatrically, and she requested the pleasure of our entire company at the premiere, which would be my first. And so, also for the first time, I had to wear that tux in public. I had by this time bid farewell to my friends and moved out of the boardinghouse, to slightly nicer digs that were walking distance from the London Coliseum in St. Martin’s Lane. This meant that I would not need to get out of a taxi and walk the red carpet—I knew that I looked idiotic in my tuxedo and wanted to keep a low profile. Inside, there was a champagne reception before the film in the upstairs bar, and my castmates had a field day making fun of me and my shit suit. Evidently, Miss Leigh caught sight of this scene and took pity on me. For all of a sudden, her boyfriend, John Merivale, was at my side, whispering into my ear that he was going to be sitting on one side of Vivien at the screening and that she had requested that I sit on her other side. I was already besotted with her, and this act of kindness only intensified my feelings. The capper was that, once I was seated beside her, I addressed her as “Miss Leigh” and she took my hand in hers. “Patrick,” she said, “you are to call me Vivien.” My erstwhile Irish roommate was right: The memorable experiences were already piling up. One more happened that evening. The film had been running for about an hour when Vivien—I still couldn’t quite believe I got to call her that—turned to me and again took my hand. I could see that she was crying. “I am so sorry, Patrick, but I am going to have to leave,” she said. “So many of these dear people I worked with are now dead, and it is making me so sad. I hope you enjoy the rest of it.” And off she went into the night.

I come bearing brews and treats for Longganisa. There was a gourmet pet store by the restaurant I went to last night and the salesperson promised these treats were both delicious and diet-friendly." Jae held up a four-pack of beer, a bottle of Adeena's cold brew, a bag of Elena's calming tea blend, and a box of organic dog treats. "Where should I put them?" I led him into the kitchen, where Longganisa lay in wait. As soon as he stepped into the room, she pounced on his legs, barking and nudging him until he'd set down everything and stooped down to pet her. "Hey there, Longganisa. I missed you, too." He held out a treat and she went still. "Son jooseyo." She put a chubby paw in his hand and received a treat in return. I laughed to myself at this scene as I washed my hands and got dinner ready. Jae had taken Nisa out one day when I was sick, and his mom had taught my dog the command for "paw" in Korean. Which was adorable in itself, but it wasn't until Jae translated and explained his mom had been politely asking my dog to "please give me your hand" that I melted.

Cooper freaking Sullivan, my ex-boyfriend from college. And the biggest mistake of my life. The iceberg to my Titanic, if you will.

Hey bruha, about time you came to visit me. You been with Tita Rosie for what, two or three months now? And you're only coming around now that you need me for something?" She made a noise with her lips and gestured to Amir. "Even Mr. Big-Time Lawyer here knows how to make time for his family. What's your excuse?" I pasted a smile on my face as I screamed on the inside. "Missed you too, Ate Bernie. And in case no one told you, I've been busy helping Tita Rosie and Lola Flor run the restaurant. Maybe if your ex-boyfriend stopped being trash and came to help his mom, I'd have more free time.

This can’t be a thing, you showing up on my fire escape. I’m not a misunderstood high schooler looking for an immortal boyfriend to stalk me into loving him. Normal people call or text.

It felt to them both that she had skipped some essential moment. She had gone from never having a boyfriend, only a few tepid kisses with nobodies, to the strange emotional sophistication she seemed to now inhabit. She had missed the pivotal stage of agonising and awkwardness which usually characterized early liaisons, straight to the strikingly adult frankness she was addressing him with now.

I stop cold at our open apartment door. And not open just a crack—more like eight or ten inches. Which is just a guesstimate since most of my past boyfriends’ idea of eight inches was actually only six.

The silver lining is that people have stopped busting my chops. I confronted Dad about the phone calls, and I check in every day, and he says they’ve stopped. I have no idea if he’s blowing smoke up my ass or not, but he seems more chill. Then there’s the added bonus that having Cash around drives Toby nuts. The downside is that Toby’s decided to turn up the PDA with his new girl, Samantha, to twelve. And I don’t care. I really, really don’t. I don’t want him back. I don’t miss feeling the way I felt with him—at all. But I know he’s doing it to mess with me, even though he’d never admit it, probably not even to himself. I have to act like it’s fine. I’m chill. And that’s too much like how it was being in a relationship with him. Playing it cool reminds me of how long I had shit in my mouth and didn’t say a word. So I’m constantly flustered, clumsy, hot, and cranky. I can’t possibly seem like a woman with a new boyfriend, but people buy it ‘cause Cash Wall says it’s so. And of course, if he showed the slightest bit of interest in me—out of guilt or pity or whatever—I’d fall over myself saying yes, please, sign me up. And that’s exactly what it looks like I did. It sucks, and tonight, Cash wants to take it to the next level. It’s Friday, and he’s taking me out on our first fake date. We’re going to Birdy’s Bar. Everyone under thirty goes to Birdy’s on Friday night. I’ve never been. I’m getting ready. On the one hand, I don’t want Cash to think I’m putting forth an effort. On the other, I don’t want everyone in town to gawk at me all night, thinking I really need to put forth more effort. So, I’m wearing a teal, silk cami and my best-fitting jeans. I swapped my nose ring out for a diamond stud and curled my hair in big, beachy waves. I’m going the whole nine yards with primer and foundation and concealer and bronzer and blush and highlighter and powder and setting spray. Toby would hate it. Goes against his oft-stated “natural beauty” preference. It’s been so long since I’ve done my face in

My first boyfriend was a nayfish named Roger. I sat next to him in Miss Barton’s first-grade class. One day Roger said to me, “Malvina is my girlfriend. I like Malvina.” I looked at Malvina, the most beautiful first-grader in America. “Frankly, I don’t see what you see in her,” I lied. “Why don’t you like me instead?” “Okay,” he agreed, and I took him home with me for lunch. Louise made coq au vin that day, as I recall. Roger asked for a peanut butter sandwich, which he dipped in that divine sauce. A chaloshes! I dropped him at recess the next day and gave him back to Malvina.

had to be a boyfriend. That’s what the true-crime shows said, right? It was always the partner. But then I remembered what Ms. Morgane had said about Janelle being single. That made it scarier. If it wasn’t a boyfriend, that meant it could be anyone and it could happen to any of us.

He could not understand what I went through, attending a high school that only had used books with pages missing, and bathrooms that rarely had running water. He had no idea what it was like to go to bed hungry, to turn on the light to find that mice had gnawed through your dinner and left their droppings for you to clean, or to have to kiss your mother’s boyfriend just for carfare to get to a program that might award you a scholarship to college—a scholarship that you needed so you wouldn’t have to spend a life cleaning toilets like your mom. White people’s toilets.

And even though I am happy for them, it’s hard to watch Gretchen with her boyfriend…and even Bonnie now settling into an exclusive relationship with Dr. McHottie. I miss having a boyfriend.

Details were important to me. If I missed one number, it could be catastrophic. That was why I didn’t miss numbers. I studied details. Yet, I’d missed a glaring one. Catherine was pregnant. Now that I’d been made aware of it by my smug friends, Weston and Luca, I questioned how I could have missed it. Seated across from me, her round stomach stretched her thin, black sweater to within an inch of its life. I didn’t like being surprised almost as much as I hated blue ink. She lifted her eyes from her tablet, catching me studying her. Her head cocked, and she rubbed her lips together. I glanced down at the swell of her belly, and she exhaled. “Are you ready to have this conversation?” I asked. “Not really.” Slowly, she lowered her tablet to the seat beside her. “An email would probably be more efficient.” “We seem to be in the car for the long haul. I’d prefer to make use of our time.” I tapped the window, drawing her attention to the bumper-to-bumper traffic. “Were you planning on giving birth at your desk?” Her mouth twitched. “That would have been quite an announcement. No, that was never in the cards.” “Are you coming back after your leave?” She jolted like I’d shocked her. “Of course I am. I have to work.” “How will you do this job with a small baby at home?” Her hands stacked in her lap. “Are you allowed to ask me that?” “Probably not, but it’s a genuine concern. Will your husband be able to take over childcare while you’re traveling with me?” She let out a lilting laugh. “Oh, I don’t have a husband.” I would have been surprised if she’d said she did since her background check hadn’t turned up a marriage. But a lot could change in a little time, so anything was possible. “Your boyfriend?” “Same answer.” For the second time, I was taken aback. The background check had revealed Catherine owned a house in Denver and lived with her partner. Whether they were still together was none of my business, and I was certain she’d tell me exactly that if I asked. “Do you have a plan?” I pressed. “You don’t have to worry about my plans, Elliot.” “I do if it affects your work. Is this”—I outlined the shape of her stomach in the air in front of me—“going to slow you down?” “Again, are you allowed to ask me that?

miss having a boyfriend. I miss cuddling on the sofa. I miss having a warm body next to me in my bed every night as I drift off to sleep. I miss…

Courtship Anyway, next day I went to Windsor and I arrived about 5 o’clock and he sat me down and said: ‘I’ve missed you so much.’ But there was never anything tactile about him. It was extraordinary, but I didn’t have anything to go by because I had never had a boyfriend. I’d always kept them away, thought they were all trouble--and I couldn’t handle it emotionally, I was very screwed up, I thought. Anyway, so he said ‘Will you marry me?’ and I laughed. I remember thinking, ‘This is a joke,’ and I said: ‘Yeah, OK,’ and laughed. He was deadly serious. He said: ‘You do realize that one day you will be Queen.’ And a voice said to me inside: ‘You won’t be Queen but you’ll have a tough role.’ So I thought ‘OK,’ so I said: ‘Yes.’ I said: ‘I love you so much, I love you so much.’ He said: ‘Whatever love means.’ He said it then. So I thought that was great! I thought he meant that! And so he ran upstairs and rang his mother. In my immaturity, which was enormous, I thought that he was very much in love with me, which he was, but he always had a sort of besotted look about him, looking back at it, but it wasn’t the genuine sort. ‘Who was this girl who was so different?’ but he couldn’t understand it because his immaturity was quite big in that department too. For me it was like a call of duty, really--to go and work with the people. I came back to the flat and sat on my bed. ‘Guess what?’ They said: ‘He asked you. What did you say?’ ‘Yes, please.’ Everybody screamed and howled and we went for a drive around London with our secret. I rang my parents the next morning. Daddy was thrilled. ‘How wonderful.’ Mummy was thrilled. I told my brother and he said ‘Who to?

Yes?” “Um…” the receptionist says. “What is it?” I bark. But then my office door opens, and Matt steps through. “He’s on his way to you,” the receptionist says. “Thanks for the warning,” I mutter. Matt closes my office door behind him and approaches me. I stand, and he tips my chin up toward his face. “I forgot something,” he says. He’s breathless, and his eyes search mine. “I forgot to tell you that I want your heart more than I want your body,” he says. His eyes are flitting all over my face. “I fucked that up, but I’m not done yet. And I know how to say I’m sorry.” “Matt—” I start. But he cuts me off. “I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything, and it’s difficult to even walk when I’m around you, because my dick gets so hard I could pound nails with it.” Heat creeps up my cheeks, but he doesn’t stop. “I shouldn’t have gone there with you yet, but I can’t help it. I’m fucking dying to be inside you. I’m fucking dying to hold you close to me, hopefully when we’re both naked.” He grins. “But even more than that, I want you to love me. I want you to love me a lot, and I went about it the wrong way. Please forgive me.” He finally stops and draws in a deep breath. “Please.” “Matt…” I say. “When I saw your boyfriend, all I could think was that I could satisfy you so much more, mainly because I was jealous as hell that he’s been close to you. Maybe I was trying to get him off your mind and put myself there. Or maybe I’m just an idiot. It’s probably the latter. I admit it. I’m an idiot when it comes to you. But that’s okay with me. I hope it’s okay with you, too.” “Matt,” I say again. “Forgive me,” he urges. “I won’t ever do it again.” I bracket his face with my hands. “Would you shut up for a minute?” I say. He breathes out a sigh. “Okay.” “I’m not mad. Well, a little annoyed that Seth repeated something to you that he overheard in a private conversation. That’s about me and Seth, though, not about you. I’ll deal with him about that. And no, I’m not mad at you. There’s nothing to forgive.” He doesn’t say anything. He just looks into my eyes. “Really, Matt,” I say to assure him. “You completely shut me down, which I deserved. But I already miss you.” “I haven’t gone anywhere.” I laugh.

When we’re outside, I hear Brittany take a deep breath. I swear it sounds as if she’s holding herself together by a thin thread. Not the way it’s supposed to go down: bring girl home, kiss girl, mom insults girl, girl leaves crying. “Don’t sweat it. She’s just not used to me bringin’ girls in the house.” Brittany’s expressive blue eyes appear remote and cold. “That shouldn’t have happened,” she says, throwing back her shoulders in a stance as stiff as a statue’s. “What? The kiss or you likin’ it so much?” “I have a boyfriend,” she says as she fidgets with the strap on her designer book bag. “You tryin’ to convince me, or yourself?” I ask her. “Don’t turn this around. I don’t want to upset my friends. I don’t want to upset my mom. And Colin…I’m just really confused right now.” I hold out my hands and raise my voice, something I usually avoid because like Paco says, it means I actually care. I don’t care. Why should I? My mind says to shut the fuck up at the same time words spout from my mouth. “I don’t get it. He treats you like you’re his damn prize.” “You don’t even know what it’s like with me and Colin…” “Tell me, dammit,” I say, unable to hide the edge to my voice. Initially I hold myself back from what I really want to say, but I can’t resist and tell it to her straight up. “’Cause that kiss back there…it meant somethin’. You know it as well as I do. I dare you to tell me bein’ with Colin is better than that.” She looks away hastily. “You wouldn’t understand.” “Try me.” “When people see Colin and me together, they comment on how perfect we are. You know, the Golden Couple. Get it?” I stare at her in disbelief. That is beyond fucked up. “I get it. I just can’t believe I’m hearin’ it. Does bein’ perfect mean that much to you?” There’s a long, brittle silence. I catch a flicker of sadness in those sapphire eyes, but then it’s gone. In an instant her expression stills and grows serious. “I haven’t been doing a bang-up job at it lately, but yes. It does,” she finally admits. “My sister isn’t perfect, so I have to be.” That is the most pathetic shit I’ve ever heard. I shake my head in disgust and point to Julio. “Get on and I’ll take you back to school to get your car.” Silently, Brittany straddles my motorcycle. She holds herself so far away from me I can barely feel her behind me. I almost take a detour to make the ride last longer. She treats her sister with patience and adoration. God knows I wouldn’t be able to spoon-feed one of my brothers and wipe his mouth. The girl I once accused of being self-absorbed is not one-dimensional. Dios mío, I admire her. Somehow, being with Brittany brings something to my life that’s missing, something…right. But how am I going to convince her of that?

You’re ready to drive back to school now?” Curtis asked, trying to conceal some of the disappointment in his voice. Genesis tilted Curtis’ head up to look at him. “Yes. I wish I could stay longer but the coach raised enough hell about me missing practice today.” “He bitched because you told him your brother is a cop and was shot at? That’s not considered a family emergency?” “No. He bitched because I told him my boyfriend needed me.” Curtis was so shocked he ended up leaning into Genesis’ broad chest to keep from falling over. Boyfriend. “You came back for me?” “If I came home every time God or Day were shot at, I’d flunk out of school for sure.” Genesis drawled. Curtis looked back down at his feet and Genesis gently lifted his head up again. “I know I said boyfriend. I want you to know, I’m not seeing anyone and I haven’t in a long time. I’m not a player or a tramp or whatever else guys try to be these days. I just want someone to spend time with that actually likes me. I just want to spend some time with you. It’s soon, I know. You don’t have to say boyfriend if you —” “No. B-boyfriend is fine,” Curtis said hurriedly. Genesis smiled and shook his head. “Good, then.” He bent and kissed Curtis lightly on his forehead. “I have to head back. I’ll call you later. And I’ll see you on Friday.” “Eight o’clock sharp,” Curtis whispered. Genesis kissed Curtis’ injured wrist and laid it back at his side. “Be good until I get back, bad boy.” Genesis leaned low until he was at Curtis’ ear. His voice threatening and growly. “I’d hate to have to spank you when I get back.” Curtis shivered hard as Genesis gave him a lingering kiss behind his ear, before backing up with a devious grin. Dear lord. How will I stop myself from behaving like a tramp? “Drive carefully, Gen.” Curtis said before Genesis got to the door. “Six days, beautiful,” Genesis said softly, right before he let the door close.

Genesis shrugged. “Why would it bother me? I’m gay too… well, bisexual I guess. I had a boyfriend for a while, but now I’m dating a girl. She’s a cheerleader at my school. She’s pretty cool.” God nearly had to pick his lip up from the floor. He’s bisexual. How the hell did I miss that? Where the hell was all this coming from and why the hell was Genesis having such an easy conversation with him like they were best friends? “Genesis,

Sophie gazed wistfully at their cutoff shorts and tank tops. Once upon a time she, too, had lived in grunge wear. She didn’t miss the clothes so much as that time in her life, when she’d had nothing more to do than go to keg parties on weekends and cut class to hang out with her boyfriend. Now both those pursuits seemed worse than trivial—they seemed wasteful. How could a few short years make such a difference in her outlook? She

When a woman misses you, you have her mind; when she cares for you, you have her heart, when she loves you, you have her soul.

I was missing you,” Bautista replied, standing to wrap his arms around Collins’s waist. “You’re always so busy these days.” “Yeah. But it’ll be over soon.” Dex’s gut twisted. The alarm bells in his head went off, and he listened intently. “What will be over soon?” Bautista asked, cocking his head to one side. Collins kissed his boyfriend on the lips before taking a step back, an almost heartbroken expression on his face as he held his hands up in surrender. “I don’t blame you for turning me in. You’re a good guy. It’s why I fell in love with you. Take care of yourself.” Shit.

Got something!’ Maria Lynch interrupted them, dragging a page from the printer. ‘The dress was bought from Dinkydress on April first. Paid for by credit card. They won’t say who owns the card, but it was delivered by courier to Maeve Phillips, 251 Mellow Grove, on the fifth.’ ‘She had that dress over a month and never wore it. Wonder what it was bought for? Any credit cards in her own name?’ Lottie asked, reading the page. ‘She hasn’t even got a bank account,’ Lynch said. ‘Someone bought it for her. Might be a boyfriend. See if you can get the company to release the name.’ ‘How?’ ‘Make something up. I think whoever bought that dress may be Maeve’s mystery boyfriend. If we find this boyfriend, we might find Maeve. We need to be concentrating on the murder of the woman found under the street.’ ‘Will I hand this missing person case over to someone else, so?’ Lynch asked. ‘No. We need to make it high priority. Find out if Maeve Phillips has a passport, and I want to talk to this friend of hers, Emily. I need to be sure Maeve’s disappearance isn’t linked to the murder.’ ‘Hardly likely, is it?’ Boyd said. ‘Ticking the box,’ Lottie said. ‘As long as it’s not a wooden one with a brass cross on top,’ Kirby said, raising his head from behind a mountain of paperwork.

Do you know how, sometimes, during a commercial break in your favorite television shows, your best friend calls and wants to talk about one of her boyfriends, and when you try to hang up, she starts crying and you try to cheer her up and end up missing about half o the episode? And so when you go to work the next day you have to get the guy who sits next to you to explain what happened? That's the good thing about a book. You can mark your place in a book. But this isn't really a book. It's a television show.

So what do you think so far, Tiff?” I asked as I started combing my hair. “I’m thinking next year we need to have some sort of fund-raiser. These guys deserve better than old school buses.” “If anyone can make it happen, it’s Miss Teen Ragland.” “Next year, I’ll just be Tiffany.” She put on her cap, and I tugged on the brim. “I think Tiffany can make it happen, too.” “Especially since you and Bird will be on my committee.” She walked out before we could respond. “Did she just volunteer us?” Bird asked. “Yep.” I dropped my comb into my tote. I put my cap and sunglasses back on. Next year’s fund-raising committee was the last thing I wanted to think about. For the next couple of hours, I planned to focus on this year’s team, this year’s pitcher. Tonight’s date.

She just works there to get extra spending money. She keeps most of her money in the bank.” “Whatever you say, I guess,” said Charlie. “So, where’s your mom at, anyway?” “Oh, she’s been gone quite a bit this week. When she’s not working, she likes to visit over at her new boyfriend’s house a lot. They’re all the time riding that big motorcycle of his. I don’t care much for her boyfriend. I’m glad he don’t come around here too much. “So, anyway, what kind of big trouble are you two in?” “It’s an awful mess,” I said. “I killed Miss Hazel by accident, and I’m afraid they’ll lock me up. I snuck her some cookies after my

Ben. My boyfriend.” Maddox’s neck was bright pink, blush spreading all the way up to his ears and cheeks as he grabbed Ben’s hand, pulled him closer. Well, now. Suddenly, the whole morning seemed worth it. Getting to claim Maddox publicly, even temporarily, made his pulse thrum. That’s my guy. He sent eye daggers to Miss Nose Ring. That’s right. Mine. As

The girl you knew was a silly little romantic with her head in the clouds,' she hissed back at him, lowering her voice again as Steven glanced their way. 'I learned to hit back.' 'You certainly did.' Ty put down the half-empty cup, taking advantage of the pause to gather himself. When he spoke again it was in modulated, reasonable tones. 'Ria, it wasn't the way you thought back then. I no more wanted to lose you than you wanted to go, only it wouldn't have worked out. You needed a home, boyfriends, parties—all the things you'd missed out on trying to be what you weren't. All I could offer you was a rusting boat and a life where even I couldn't be sure what the next day was going to bring.' 'I see.' She attempted the same level delivery. 'So you sent me away for my own sake. Self-sacrificing of you, Ty—if I believed a word of it!

I guess when I first started hearing Céline Dion songs I did not realize that she was almost always singing about someone she is sooooo desperately in love with ! She has such longing and such agony as she is away from her lover . I tried to see a lesson in this : I think the way Celine Din feels about her lover is the way God feels must feel about the church ,which in some ways seems to have strayed so far from Him . I think God allowed me to REALLY MISS my boyfriend so I could catch a tiny glimpse of what his hear must feel as the church strays into religion and away from things that are so important to Him like helping the impoverished, unwanted people of the world . I got a tiny glimpse of how he longs and desires for my heart each and every minute of each and every day . God so deeply ,passionately , desperately loves us . He intensely longs for his lover ,the church, to come back to his teachings of giving(surrendering) all we a have to lovingly serve Him ,our beloved , who lives in the hearts of the suffering poor people of this world and unite as a community in an effort to serve HIM in Them . It deeply moves me HIM KNOWING that he is singing to me even more longingly and passionately than Celine Dion wanting to adopt me into his family. That is pretty WONDERFUL !!! Satan is not a fan of God winning our hearts (souls). He is battling every day . I am becoming more keenly aware of this spiritual battle between God and the devil for my heart (soul) than ever before. The devil tricks us into being materialistically selfish wanting more and more for ourselves this depriving us of the infinite eternal treasure of LOVE God wants to shower on us which no money or processions can buy . No where in the bible does it say I deserve a reward here on this earth Colossians 3:23 says “Whatever work you do do ity with all your heart (it does not say “and after this work you deserve a long hot bath “ it does say “since you KNOW that ypu will receive an in hertiance in heaven from the lord as a reward “ And we know in our hearts that God is ALL we need (matthew 19-21 says Do not lay up for your selves treasures in this world where moth and rust doth corrupt …..but lay up for yourselves treasure (Love for God )in eternity “ page 174 Kisses from Katie

If you find yourself consistently giving too many fucks about trivial shit that bothers you—your ex-boyfriend’s new Facebook picture, how quickly the batteries die in the TV remote, missing out on yet another two-for-one sale on hand sanitizer—chances are you don’t have much going on in your life to give a legitimate fuck about. And that’s your real problem.

He pointed at my tiara. “Why are you wearing a crown?” I adjusted my freshly bedazzled head gear. “It’s a tiara and it’s part of the uniform when you’re the Pie Princess.” “And it doesn’t bother you to wear it?” He pushed his glasses up on his nose, framing his coffee-colored eyes. “Are you kidding? It feels like the accessory that’s been missing from my wardrobe all my life.” I struck a pose. “Admit it. You think I look awesome.” He chuckled and shoved his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. “You always look good, but that tiara is ridiculous.

Do you love him?” Jared looked at the closed door. “Yes.” “You’re lying.” He grabbed Jared’s shoulder and turned him around. “You’re fucking lying!” Jared’s face was inscrutable, his muscles rigid under his touch. “I’m in a good relationship. Let me be.” Gabriel tightened his grip. “Look me in the eye and say you love him. And I’ll go and never come back.” Jared clenched his jaw. “He’s everything I ever wanted in a boyfriend.” “That’s not what I asked.” Jared looked him in the eye and said, “I love him. I’m over you. I don’t love you anymore.” Gabe sucked a breath in. He felt sick to his stomach. “Prove it,” he whispered, hating himself a little for being so pathetic. “How am I supposed to prove it?” “Hold me. And I’ll know. I always knew.” Some emotion flickered across Jared’s face. “That’s silly.” “Prove it, then,” Gabriel repeated, firmer this time. “If you’re telling the truth, you’ve got nothing to hide, right?” Jared didn’t move. “Or do you?” Gabriel said, raising his eyebrows. Pressing his lips together, Jared lifted his arms and put them loosely around him before quickly letting go—but Gabe grabbed his shirt. “Real hug. Or are you scared?” Swearing through his teeth, Jared yanked him close and hugged him so hard he could barely breathe. Gabriel didn’t care: he melted against Jared, into him, wanting to hide in him, crawl under his skin and never let go. Cursing again, Jared squeezed him harder, and God, Jared’s scent, his arms around him, his strength—it felt so good, right and perfect on so many levels that he felt high. He’d been cold for so long. He felt warm now. Warm, cherished and loved. “Baby,” Jared croaked out, kissing Gabe’s brow and then his cheek, his breath unsteady and ragged. Gabriel smiled—Jared hadn’t called him that in years. “Missed you,” he whispered, closing his eyes and leaning eagerly into the touch as Jared kissed his face. “So much.” “I know,” Jared said, trailing his lips across Gabriel’s cheek and inhaling deeply. He seemed to be faring no better than Gabe: just as hungry for touch. And God, he’d been hungry for this. So hungry that at times it felt as though the need was gnawing a hole inside his soul.

Elliot: How's it goin'? J.D.: Well, my bike is rusty, I haven't been able to feel my genitals since they first touched water, and the only thing I've had to eat all day is a half a jellyfish. Why are you here? Elliot: Can I talk to you about Jake? J.D.: It's a dangerous topic. Talk to Carla. Elliot: Yeah, anytime I talk to Carla about a guy, she tells me to marry him so the four of us can go to dinner together. Elliot: This Jake thing is still really bothering me. J.D.: Elliot, you know our rules. Elliot: Yeah, I've been thinking about that. Who wants to have a superficial friendship? I mean, God, do you remember how close we used to be? Dealing with Dr. Cox, dealing with our screwed-up families, talking about everything? I miss that. J.D.: This is working. Elliot: Not for me! I wanna be able to tell you that my boyfriend really freaked me out. J.D.: Well, if he freaked you out, why don't you go talk to him? J.D.: All right, fine, Elliot. You wanna know why? You're just like me. You're scared because you feel like you haven't accomplished anything with your life. But instead of running a triathlon, you're pushing forward with a guy you don't belong with. And you know as well as I do, one of these days he's gonna open up a bottle of white wine for you when you really prefer red, except you never told him that; and you wanna know why? It's because he's not right for you, Elliot. Are you happy now? Elliot: You're pretty smart for a guy running in bike shoes.

"I saw you and I see you every day. I greet you every day. Can you read my eyes? I miss you every day. I love you every day. What was this guy’s story? Doorman? Bus driver? Receptionist? Who’s the girl? Has she noticed him? Is he anyone to her, or just the fella behind the counter at Benji’s? Why doesn’t he say something to her? But I knew why. Because there’s the creeping fear that these moments don’t actually exist outside your own head. No eyes meet across a crowded room, no two people think precisely the same thing, and if only one person actually has that moment, is it even really a moment at all? We know this, so we say nothing. We avert our eyes, or pretend to be looking for change, we hope the other person will take the initiative, because we don’t want to risk losing this feeling of excitement and possibilities and lust. It’s too perfect. That little second of hope is worth something, possibly for ever, as we lie on our deathbeds, surrounded by our children, and our grandchildren, and our great-grandchildren, and we can’t help but quickly give one last selfish, dying thought to what could have happened if we’d actually said hello to that girl in the Uggs selling CDs outside Nando’s seventy-four years earlier. It’s the what if? The what then? And we know that if we go for it, if we risk it, we immediately stand to lose it. But weirdly, some part of us believes the feeling is two-way, because it must be; it’s too special not to be. We believe that something’s been shared, even if the evidence we have is … what? A look that lasted a breath longer than we’re used to? A second glance, when the glance could easily have been to check whether there are any cabs coming, or whether the jacket we’re wearing that’s caught their eye would look good on their boyfriend, or why it is we seem to be staring at them."

You're Miss F's boyfriend?" Danny looked up in disbelief, his gaze following Jim around the room. "You're real?" Tommy echoed the same surprise. "Dude, I thought she was some sad old lady like my mom, making up stories about her dead boyfriend." "Shut up, Tommy." Jim paused near her desk. "You talked about me? You said I'm your boyfriend?" "Dead boyfriend," Danny corrected. "Shut up." Natalie and Jim silenced the frightened vandals in unison. "We were reading Romeo and Juliet," she explained, trying to diminish the importance of the boys' nervous rambling that had revealed far more than she cared to. "Talking about love and tragedy." "They were like, from rival gangs," Tom informed Jim unnecessarily. "Enough, Tommy." The seventeen year-old chose now to remember something she'd taught in class? "These are the two boneheads who've been giving you grief?" Natalie nodded."I thought I'd handled it." Jim holstered his gun and pulled out his phone. "I don't know if I'm flattered to learn that you claimed to love me, or pissed off to hear that you think of us as a tragedy.

Hannah tells me that you helped protect her from the Hispanics during the riot.” “The Hispanics? Oh, the protest, right.” “Call it what you like, son. This place was crawling with spics, and I am grateful that you took care of my only child.” “Well,” I shrugged. “I guess that’s what boyfriends do.” Spics?? “Only good boyfriends,” Hannah said, still tightly holding my left hand. I could never predict when she’d pour on the affection and when she’d act distant. Were all girlfriends this complicated? “I helped pass that law, you understand,” Mr. Walker said. “I’m an advisor to the senator, and it’s about time someone notable, someone of prestige, took a stand on the influx of hispanics into our once great city. The Hispanics were rioting because of that law, because they’re afraid of justice.” “Oh yeah?” I said. I knew nothing about politics or laws. But I had a feeling I disagreed with him. “But I’ll discontinue this tangent before I begin to preach,” he smiled. “Hannah is giving me the warning look.” “Thank you, Daddy,” Hannah said. “The spics destroyed your car,” he said. “Hannah informed me, and then I read the report in the newspaper.” “That was a good car,” I nodded. “I will miss it.” “Well, let me see what I can do to help,” he said. “I’m a financial consultant to many of our nation’s finest automobile manufacturers, including Mission Motorcycles. You have heard of them?” “I don’t know much about any cars. Or motorcycles,” I admitted. “Well, it just so happens, they owed me a favor and agreed to give me a short-term loan on one of their new electric bikes,” he said. And it was then that I realized we were standing beside a gleaming black, silver, and orange motorcycle. I hadn’t noticed before because our school parking lot always looks like a luxury car showcase, and I’d grown numb to the opulence. A sleek black helmet hung from each handle. Mr. Walker placed his palm on the seat and said, “This bike is yours. Until you get a new car.” “Wow,” I breathed. A motorcycle!! “Isn’t it sexy?” Hannah smiled. “It looks like it’s from the future.” “It does,” I agreed. “I’m almost afraid to touch it, like it’ll fly off. But sir, there’s no way…” “Please don’t be so ungrateful as to refuse, son. That’s low class, and that’s not the Walkers. You are in elite company. Dating my daughter has advantages, as I’m sure she’s told you. You just keep performing on the football field.” “Oh…right,” I said. “I’m gratified I can help,” Mr. Walker said and shook my hand again. “I’m expecting big things from you. Don’t let me down. It’s electric, so you’ll need to charge it at night. Fill out the paperwork in the storage compartment and return them signed to Hannah tomorrow. If you wreck it, I’ll have you drowned off Long Beach. I wish I could stay, but I’m late for a meeting with the Board of Supervisors. Hannah, tell your mother I’ll be out late,” he said and got into the back seat of a black sedan that whisked him away.

I miss my dad grabbing my mom’s hand and sneaking kisses when he thought I wasn’t looking. I miss them being proud of me and loving me. And every single night, it hurts when I think of them. It hurts when I go to bed and I know I’m going to wake up the next morning and they still won’t be around. It hurts every time I want to call them, or email them, or go home for the holidays.

Oh my God, Carter!” I sprang to my feet, already in a run. I crashed into Carter, hugging him tightly, “What are you doing here?!” “Damn Blaze. Where’s my Harper and what have you done with her?” I blushed and crossed my arms over my chest, “Uh, yeah. I guess I look a little different.” He ran a finger near the piercing on my lip, “A little.” He smiled and hugged me to him again. “I missed you Blaze.” “I missed you too.” I said into his chest, “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you were coming. I would have been at the airport to get you.” “Well that wouldn’t have been half as fun as your reaction just now.” I leaned back to smile at him. He was tall too, not like Chase or Brandon, but close to six feet. His black hair was in the traditional fade the Marine’s had and his brown eyes were bright. “How long do you get to be here for?” He smiled wide and opened his mouth to talk, but was cut off. “Harper?” Turning, I saw Brandon staring at Carter, he didn’t look happy. And I could only imagine how after what happened last night with Amanda, me taking off and almost tackling a random guy while in a bikini would be a little alarming. Especially since Carter still had his arms wrapped around my waist. Stepping back toward Brandon, I grabbed his hand and squeezed, “Brandon this is my best friend from Camp Lejeune, Jason Carter, Carter, this is my boyfriend Brandon Taylor.” They firmly shook hands but didn’t say anything. Awkward. “Um, why don’t we head back over there? I can introduce you to everyone else.” I pulled Brandon back towards our friends while I was introduced to the three guys Carter had been with. He was right, I didn’t know them, but Carter had never been to California so I didn’t know how he knew them either. I introduced Carter and the three guys to everyone, and while all the housemates and Konrad were polite, Chase wouldn’t speak to, or shake Carter’s hand. Just crossed his arms over his bare chest and openly glared at him. What threw me off even more, was Brandon standing right next to him, in the exact same stance. It didn’t surprise me that Carter took a step back, those guys could look scary if they wanted to. Rugged looks, tall tattooed and muscled bodies. Yep. Definitely scary to someone who didn’t know them.

What the hell is your problem?!” Carter looked a little sheepish, “I’m just looking out for you Blaze.” “You’re being an asshole!” “Well!” His arms shot out to the side, “I don’t think he’s good for you.” I was getting freaking tired of people telling me who is and isn’t good for me. I crossed my arms over my chest, wishing I would have put my shirt back on. “And why is that Jason?” His eye flashed with hurt, he knew I only used his first name when I was mad at him, “Because of what he does. You heard him, he fights for a living Blaze. And he was having a hell of a time trying not to hit me and I just met him.” “Because you were being incredibly rude! And you’re right, you two had just met. If you would have given him five seconds you would have seen how amazing he is. Instead, you continued to push every button you could find, and why did you have to keep calling me your girl. I’m not your anything and you know that.” “You’re my best friend Blaze.” He said softly. “And I thought you were mine, but my best friend wouldn’t have treated anyone the way you just did, especially my boyfriend.” I turned to walk away but he grabbed my arm. “Blaze I’m sorry. Please don’t walk away from me, I’ll make this up to you I swear.” Yanking my arm from his loose hold, I stepped closer to his body, even though I was much shorter than him, he still backed up, “Do you have any idea how much you’ve embarrassed me?” I put my hands on his chest and shoved him back, “When I told them about you, all I did was gush over how awesome you were and how much I missed you. Then you show up and treat them this way?” I looked down trying to get ahold of my emotions that were all over the place. I was embarrassed, angry and sad for the loss of the Carter I knew. Huffing sadly, I glanced back up at him, “Go back to base Carter and please don’t call me anymore. You shouldn’t have come to California.” He grabbed my hand when I turned away and pulled me back to his chest, wrapping his arms around me. “I’m so sorry Harper. I was being stupid, I just – I don’t know. I guess I felt threatened by them, you’re my best friend, and they were all looking at me like they wanted to protect you from me. It pissed me off, and I shouldn’t have let it. I’m really sorry.” I sighed and put my arms around his waist, “Because they would protect me in a second. It’s just the same as it was on base, Carter. These guys are really protective of me and Bree. That’s why I’m so comfortable with them, it’s like I went from one family of a bunch of brothers, to another.” “But you barely know them.” “Carter,” I laughed lightly, “how long had I known you before you knocked out a guy from a different unit that said something about my chest?” He shifted his weight not wanting to answer, so I continued, “About two hours. It’s the same.” “It’s not Blaze. I want to be the one to protect you. I don’t want anyone else to do my job.” “Oh my God. What is it with you guys? I don’t need anyone protecting me and I’m not your responsibility.” “I know you don’t,” he pulled back a bit and looked at my face, “there’s just something about you that makes guys go crazy wanting to take care of you.” I

I’m a writer/director, my movie is a hit at Sundance, I have a wonderful loving boyfriend, and wow, I have financial stability. Why can’t I get out of bed still? It made it even worse, because there’s nothing else I want. This is what I’m born to do. I’m living my purpose, I’m paying my rent, what’s missing?

I miss you,” is how she entices you. “I want you,” is how she charms you. “I need you,” is how she entraps you. “I love you,” is how she imprisons you.

Watkins’ case is more evidence that society’s fixation on identity politics can miss the ways in which individual circumstances change the game. Watkins, together with her longtime boyfriend, was a bar owner in the tiny rural town of Woodstock, Ohio. This small business, that she’d had such high hopes for, had been struggling due to restrictions imposed by the state government to decrease the spread of Covid-19. She didn’t blame the virus. She blamed Republican Governor Mike DeWine, the man who declared an emergency in March 2020 in an attempt to contain the virus’s spread. DeWine’s order that closed bars and restaurants to indoor customers was lifted in late May 2020. But business still lagged. And during the idle hours imposed by the pandemic, Watkins developed a penchant for watching videos produced by the conspiracy site, InfoWars.

There will be no sex for you or me during this entire ordeal. I know you’re secretly dating Samantha Hendrix, the supermodel—i.e., Miss Private Phone Calls Every Monday, but surely she’s aware of our engagement by now. She can survive without swallowing your cock down her throat for a couple weeks.” “I didn’t know you had such a filthy mouth.” He trailed his fingers against my throat. “You have no idea what you’re talking about in regard to Samantha, though.

Ladies, just accept it. Men & women are wired differently. They don't think like us or understand why we feel the way we do and are perplexed by a lot of what we say, and baffled by our actions. But they don't have to always "get you" to love you. What's important is that he's a good boyfriend, husband, father. If *that's* missing, the fact he won't watch "Real Housewives of ATL" with you is the least of your worries.

I can’t lie. I miss him. You can’t spend that much time with someone and not.

The problem with people who hand out fucks like ice cream at a goddamn summer camp is that they don’t have anything more fuck-worthy to dedicate their fucks to. If you find yourself consistently giving too many fucks about trivial shit that bothers you—your ex-boyfriend’s new Facebook picture, how quickly the batteries die in the TV remote, missing out on yet another two-for-one sale on hand sanitizer—chances are you don’t have much going on in your life to give a legitimate fuck about.

John’s large hand covers mine, stilling my fingers. “Like I said, I don’t have a lot of experience with relationships. But if someone else puts their hands on you, I’m likely to remove those hands from their life source. So yeah, Darling, you can call me your boyfriend.” “This is nuts,” I whisper.

for the rest of the night. Other than to refuel with holiday leftovers. “Would you still love me if I told you I didn’t know what tasted better, Christmas leftovers or you?” Jana cocked her eyebrow with a sexy smile on her face. Damn, she was beautiful. “No but I will be mad unless you do some very thorough research and come up with a satisfying answer…” I grinned. This Christmas was unlike any of the others Jana and I had spent together. This time we had two little boys, a bigger family and we’d faced our biggest threat yet and come out on top. “If it’s for the sake of research, consider me in babe.” And I spent the rest of the night doing science. Between the gorgeous legs of my beautiful wife. I was pretty sure in that moment, life for the Reckless Bastard’s couldn’t get any better. Merry friggin’ Christmas to us! * * * * If you think the Reckless Bastards are spicy bad boys, they’re nothing compared to the steam in my next series Reckless MC Opey, TX Chapter where Gunnar and Maisie move to Texas! There’s also a sneak peek on the next page.   Don’t wait — grab your copy today!  Copyright © 2019 KB Winters and BookBoyfriends Publishing Inc Published By: BookBoyfriends Publishing Inc Chapter One Gunnar “We’re gonna be cowboys!” Maisie had been singing that song since we got on the interstate and left Nevada and the only family we’d had in the world behind. For good. Cross was my oldest friend, and I’d miss him the most, even though I knew we’d never lose touch. I’d miss Jag too, even Golden Boy and Max. The prospects were cool, but I had no attachment to them. Though I gave him a lot of shit, I knew I’d even miss Stitch. A little. It didn’t matter that the last year had been filled with more shit than gold, or that I was leaving Vegas in the dust, we were all closer for the hell we’d been through. But still, I was leaving. Maisie and I’d been on the road for a couple of days. Traveling with a small child took a long damn time. Between bathroom breaks and snack times we’d be lucky to make it to Opey by the end of the month. Lucky for me, Maisie had her mind set on us becoming cowboys, complete with ten gallon hats, spurs and chaps, so she hadn’t shed one tear, yet. It wasn’t something I’d been hoping for but I was waiting patiently for reality to sink in and the uncontrollable sobs that had a way of breaking a grown man’s heart. “You’re not a boy,” I told her and smiled through the rear view mirror. “Hard to be a cowboy if you’re not even a boy.” Maisie grinned, a full row of bright white baby teeth shining back at me right along with sapphire blue eyes and hair so black it looked to be painted on with ink. “I’m gonna be a cowgirl then! A cowgirl!” She went on and on for what felt like forever, in only the way that a four year old could, about all the cool cowgirl stuff she’d have. “Boots and a pony too!” “A pony? You can’t even tie your shoes or clean up your toys and you want a pony?” She nodded in that exaggerated way little kids did. “I’ll learn,” she said with the certainty of a know it all teenager, a thought that terrified the hell out of me. “You’ll help me, Gunny!” Her words brought a smile to my face even though I hated that fucking nickname she’d picked up from a woman I refused to think about ever again. I’d help Maisie because that’s what family did. Hell, she was the reason I’d uprooted my entire fucking life and headed to the great unknown wilds of Texas. To give Maisie a normal life or as close to normal as I was capable of giving her. “I’ll always help you, Squirt.” “I know. Love you Gunny!” “Love you too, Cowgirl.” I winked in the mirror and her face lit up with happiness. It was the pure joy on her face, putting a bloom in her cheeks that convinced me this was the right thing to do. I didn’t want to move to Texas, and I didn’t want to live on a goddamn ranch, but that was my future. The property was already bought and paid for with my name

If you find yourself consistently giving too many fucks about trivial shit that bothers you—your ex-boyfriend’s new Facebook picture, how quickly the batteries die in the TV remote, missing out on yet another two-for-one sale on hand sanitizer—chances are you don’t have much going on in your life to give a legitimate fuck about. And that’s your real problem. Not the hand sanitizer. Not the TV remote. I once heard an artist say that when a person has no problems, the mind automatically finds a way to invent some. I think what most people—especially educated, pampered middle-class white people—consider “life problems” are really just side effects of not having anything more important to worry about.

It wasn’t long ago that I left the CIA and DC, moved to Sinful, adopted a cat, quit my job, acquired a boyfriend, and for Christ’s sake, I just wore a sequined dress and a tiara on a parade float. If there is any more change in my life, I might spontaneously combust.

But every time I read the news, I am pummeled by stories of missing girls, murdered girls, women killed by their revenge-seeking former boyfriends, and it becomes increasingly difficult to call the murder of women “rare.” It is impossible to call my fear “irrational.

Ava: Good morning, boyfriend. My alarm went off at 4:30 and I had to get home. I didn’t want to. I could’ve stayed in your arms forever. Connor: New phone. Who dis? Ava: Sorry. Wrong number. I meant to send that to my other boyfriend. Connor: I’ll beat his ass. Ava: Before or after you get done sucking your thumb, you giant baby. Connor: Listen here, you little shit. Ava: I miss you. Connor: Me too. I’ll be around earlier to take you to school. I have a lot of apologizing to do today, remember? Ava: Oh yeah. Sucks to be you. Connor: Not really. Last night I had a girl sleep in my bed for the first time ever, so that was kind of cool. Ava: Yeah? Was she hot? Connor: Eh. Ava: Listen here, you little shit. Connor: I can’t wait, Ava. Ava: For what? Connor: Everything.

Whatever, at least I’ll be able to get a drink. Stella, you might want to join me when you’re finished because Lord knows your struggle-boyfriend can’t afford to buy you a glass of water.” Then she sashayed off.

I should factionalized is more, I should conceal myself. I should consider the responsibilities of characterization, I should conflate her two children into one, or reverse their genders, or otherwise alter them, I should make her boyfriend a husband, I should explicate all the tributaries of my extended family (its remarriages, its internecine politics), I should novelized the whole thing, I should make it multi-generational, I should work in my forefathers (stonemasons and newspapermen), I should let artifice create an elegant surface, I should make the events orderly, I should wait and write about it later, I should wait until I’m not angry, I shouldn’t clutter a narrative with fragments, with mere recollections of good times, or with regrets, I should make Meredith’s death shapely and persuasive, not blunt and disjunctive, I shouldn’t have to think the unthinkable, I shouldn’t have to suffer, I should address her here directly (these are the ways I miss you), I should write only of affection, I should make our travels in this earthly landscape safe and secure, I should have a better ending, I shouldn’t say her life was short and often sad, I shouldn’t say she had her demons, as I do too.

I should fictionalize it more, I should conceal myself. I should consider the responsibilities of characterization, I should conflate her two children into one, or reverse their genders, or otherwise alter them, I should make her boyfriend a husband, I should explicate all the tributaries of my extended family (its remarriages, its internecine politics), I should novelized the whole thing, I should make it multi-generational, I should work in my forefathers (stonemasons and newspapermen), I should let artifice create an elegant surface, I should make the events orderly, I should wait and write about it later, I should wait until I’m not angry, I shouldn’t clutter a narrative with fragments, with mere recollections of good times, or with regrets, I should make Meredith’s death shapely and persuasive, not blunt and disjunctive, I shouldn’t have to think the unthinkable, I shouldn’t have to suffer, I should address her here directly (these are the ways I miss you), I should write only of affection, I should make our travels in this earthly landscape safe and secure, I should have a better ending, I shouldn’t say her life was short and often sad, I shouldn’t say she had her demons, as I do too.

People often tell me that I spend too much time being afraid of something that is statistically less likely than a car crash. But every time I read the news, I am pummeled by stories of missing girls, murdered girls, women killed by their revenge-seeking former boyfriends, and it becomes increasingly difficult to call the murder of women “rare.” It is impossible to call my fear “irrational.

I miss you.” It punched me in the heart. He’d never said that to me before. This was another level, unlocked. There was I miss you. I love you. Boyfriend, girlfriend, meet the family, live together, engaged. Married…

I miss you." It punched me in the heart. He'd never said that to me before. This was another level, unlocked. There was I miss you. I love you. Boyfriend, girlfriend, meet the family, live together, engaged. Married. But we'd never reach most of those levels. We'd never even come close.

Really, I needed a boyfriend like I needed a hole in my head, but sometimes I did miss having an actual human to converse with.

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Cooper’s dark eyes studied my face then he smiled. “I really am crazy about you. Let me make it up to you.” “What about Nick?” I asked, daring him to freak out again. His jaw twitching, Cooper shrugged. “He’s a guy. He gets it. In fact, I think he’s hot for one of those giggly blondes in class. Shar, I think is the one. No need for me or anyone else to care about old Nick.” “So I can study with him?” Cooper narrowed his eyes and exhaled hard. “Why him?” “He’s in a bunch of my classes and he takes great notes.” “Great notes? Is that code?” “I waited all day to see you, Coop,” I said, placing my hand on his chest where I knew the cross was hiding under his white tee. “I missed you then you ruined everything by focusing on him. Will you keep doing that? I need you to focus on me.” “You want me, right? Not him.” “I want you so much, but I think it’s a mistake. You obviously don’t trust me.” “Don’t make it about trust. It’s not even about you.” “What the hell does that mean?” I asked, removing my hand. Cooper looked ready to grab my hand and return it to his chest. I saw him fight the urge then he forced a smile. A really fake smile that never reached his eyes. “It’s about me. It’s about my feeling like someone is trying to take away what I need. You aren’t doing anything. I just can’t have a man sniffing around my girl.” “He’s not sniffing around me.” “Don’t be naïve.” “You said he liked Shar.” “Why do you care who he likes?” Backing away, I sighed. “I’m taking the bus home.” “No, wait,” he said, wrapping his arms around me as I retreated. “Look, I’m jealous. That’s not a bad thing, is it? If you saw me with some chick, wouldn’t you be jealous?” “Yes, but I wouldn’t freak out and scare everyone.” “That’s because you’re classy. I was raised to be a caveman though. I should get credit for not taking you by the hair and dragging you back to my cave. You know, after clubbing your boyfriend to death first.” “You’re nuts.” “I’m teasing you.” “Not completely,” I said, staring at him in horror. “No, not completely. Well, I’m not kidding about clubbing him to death, but I’d never drag you back to my cave. Me want woman to want it bad.

If you are keeping them because you can't forget a former boyfriend, it's better to discard or donate them. Hanging on to them makes it more likely that you will miss opportunities for new relationships.

Hey, Dylan,” I said, holding my orange ball. “You got rid of the Mohawk.” Lark and Raven’s stepbrother ran his hand over his bald head and sighed. “Yeah, I’d been thinking about going the business man route for a while. Kept going back and forth about cutting it. A few weeks ago, I got drunk at Lark’s place. The sisters were nice enough to shave my head while I was passed out.” Nearby, Raven laughed so hard she had trouble distracting Vaughn who was still trying to win the game. Dylan glared at her then shrugged. “Gonna let it grow out and play the average Joe shit.” “Good luck with that,” I said, glancing at the bathroom and hoping Bailey would appear. When she didn’t, I walked to an open lane and rolled the ball. It took out a single pin which was one more than I expected. A lane away Raven struggled to win against Vaughn. She bent over one direction. When her ass didn’t do it, she bent forward and adjusted her tits. A distracted Vaughn missed his strike with a single pin remaining. Before I could hear him complain and her celebrate, Cooper and Tucker appeared next to me. “I liked the way you handled that fucker,” Tucker said, arms crossed tightly. “You always know how to deal with these losers while looking like a Boy Scout. A good skill to have.” Ignoring them, I rolled the second ball and managed to take out three pins. A new record for me. “What’s with the silent shit?” Tucker asked. Sighing, I looked at them and frowned. “I want to be with Bailey. We just started dating, but here I am jumping through hoops for you two. You do this shit with every guy?” “Most are losers,” Cooper said. “Most never do the second date thing. They bang then hang. If they’re lucky, she never mentions it to us and we don’t kick anyone’s ass. You’re the first boyfriend type she’s had.” “Our family needs good people,” added Tucker. Cooper shifted his stance and shook his head at his brother. “He doesn’t want that life. Nick wants to be a teacher.” “Why?” “Who cares?” Cooper said. “It’s what he wants. Sounds like a nice safe life for our little sister, don’t you think?” Tucker’s expression froze and his dopey brain took awhile to put things together. By the time he figured it out, I’d rolled a gutter ball, Bailey returned, and Vaughn declared his wife a cheater. “It’s only fair!” Raven cried as Vaughn threw her over his shoulder and spun her around. “You’re a better bowler and I want to win. Cheating was the only card I could play.” “Making me think some fucker was looking at your ass was low, Raven.” “So is naming our first born son Maverick. You’re just looking for trouble with a name like that.” Vaughn lowered her to her feet then grinned. “My boys will be nothing but trouble. They’ll own this town and chase pretty girls like Scarlet and Lily.” “Hey, keep your pervy kid away from my daughter!” Tucker hollered, looking pissed. Cooper grabbed his brother and they wrestled onto the ground. By the end of pounding each other, they were both laughing.

And so worthless! You couldn’t do a damn thing if your life depended on it.” My mother whom I loved so much, my mother whom I practically worshipped, my mother whom I still missed. Maybe it’s best my father came that day and took me away. Now I wouldn’t be such a leech in her presence. Now she couldn’t pimp me out to her “boyfriends”.

You've been taking care of me from the moment you asked me to move in with you," he said softly. "You feed me, make sure I take my meds, you take care of my body, help me to improve. You make sure I get enough sleep, you help me find sexual release, and when you realized I needed a scene, you gave me one that made me fly higher than I've ever flown before. You quit your job so you could be with me, and one day without you assured that I didn't even feel guilty for that, because I missed you way too much. You're happiest when you get to make the decisions for me, and I'm happiest when all I need to do is obey you and follow your lead." Rhys had looked at him all that time, his eyes growing a little misty as Cornell finished by saying, "You're not my Dom or just my boyfriend. You're my Daddy.

The problem with people who hand out fucks like ice cream at a goddamn summer camp is that they don’t have anything more fuck-worthy to dedicate their fucks to. If you find yourself consistently giving too many fucks about trivial shit that bothers you—your ex-boyfriend’s new Facebook picture, how quickly the batteries die in the TV remote, missing out on yet another two-for-one sale on hand sanitizer—chances are you don’t have much going on in your life to give a legitimate fuck about. And that’s your real problem. Not the hand sanitizer. Not the TV remote.

I thought my life would be instantly perfect if only I knew someone loved me. I miss being that naïve. But the garden of love is a thorny threshold. Even roses bite.” - FILI

Josh’s cute, huh?” “If I didn’t have a boyfriend, I’d get under him.” She gasped and looked over at me, wide-eyed. Sloan was a lot more sexually conservative than I was. Shocking her was one of my favorite hobbies. I never missed an opportunity. I shrugged. “What? I haven’t gotten laid since last year. And this shirt smells incredible.” I dipped my nose back inside the neckline. “Like testosterone and cedar. And did you see him washing those dishes? He looked like Mr. February in a sexy firemen calendar. Guys like that are the exact reason why my grandmother always told me to wear clean underwear in case you get into a car accident.” She shook her head. “I swear to God you’re a man.” “I wish I were a man. Then I wouldn’t have to deal with all this faulty plumbing.” I cramped again and winced, rubbing a hand on my stomach.

Tyler was handsome in a chiseled sort of way. Like a model in a black-and-white cologne commercial. But Josh. Oh God—Josh. He melted me. He was a teddy bear. A warm, gorgeous, delicious piece of everything. I wished I could let him in. Let him be my boyfriend if he wanted to. He’d said the morning after we’d first hooked up that we could be exclusive. He would. He wanted to. He would lock the house up before bed and kiss me good night. He’d throw his shirts on my chair and I wouldn’t even complain about it. Stuntman could sleep with us because he likes Josh. And when he went to work, I could text him and tell him I miss him, and he would say it back, and if I got mouthy, he’d just laugh at me and handle me like he always did. He just let my moods roll off him, like nothing about me scared him, and it made me feel like I could be myself around him. Like the only time I really was myself was when I was around him. Maybe I should marry Tyler. I mean, why should everyone be miserable, right? If I married Tyler, he would be happy, Mom would be happy. Josh would move on to fertile pastures and have a million babies. And I’d be with someone that I cared about who could maybe distract me from the broken heart I was going to carry for the rest of my life. Tyler and I got along. It wouldn’t be bad. It wouldn’t be me and Josh, but there wasn’t going to be a me and Josh, so didn’t I have to consider my alternatives? And Tyler knew I was in love with Josh. He knew what he was asking when he proposed. My best friend would never talk to me again, and my dog would probably run away. With Josh.

Dear Brace Face, Did I get your name right? Or was it Zipper Mouth? Maybe it was STUMP GRINDER! Sorry, sweetie. I’m so forgetful sometimes! Anyway, having braces isn’t all that bad. Let’s look at the pros and cons, shall we? PROS: #1: You can get a job at the Olive Garden restaurant grating cheese with your teeth! #2: Your mouth also multitasks as a paper shredder and chain saw! #3: With all the food you’re going to have stuck in your braces, you’ll have yourself a portable, FREE all-you-can-eat buffet! CONS: #1: People will follow you around to get a better cell phone signal. #2: A boyfriend with braces could become the kiss of death, literally. If your braces lock up during a smooch, you’ll both have to go to the orthodontist together to get it surgically terminated! #3: On a very clear day, you can pick up interstellar signals from ALIENS on Mars! Wait a second!! ALL of those sound like CONS, don’t they? Oh well! Too bad for you! Thank goodness I’ve ALWAYS had perfectly straight pearly whites! YAY ME !! —Miss Know-It-All

She mentions orphans at every opportunity. Part of the Miss Teen Ragland competition involves answering a question about how you’d change the world or make a difference or improve yourself. For Tiffany, it doesn’t matter what question she’s asked, she always manages to explain how she’d help orphans. Maybe her generous heart and not her generous, uh, chest, helped her win the past three competitions.