Cad Quotes

The liar was the hottest to defend his veracity, the coward his courage, the ill-bred his gentlemanliness, and the cad his honor

You are a cad,' he told himself. 'A cur. A bounder. A scoundrel. A ... human thesaurus.

I may be a werewolf and Scottish, but despite what you may have read about both, we are not cads!

I don't know if you remember me, but I used to work here in the factory." Were you one of those despicable spies who every day tried to steal my life's work and sell it to those paraseeded cop cat, candy making cads?" No sir!" Then wonderful, welcome back!

How DARE the villainous cads be as clever as the heroes.

I thought it was. . . um." He cleared his throat. "But there were clearly a lot of expectations, and a lot of pressure, and. . ." He squirmed in the chair. "We were going to die, you know." "I know." She squeezed her knees into her chest. "And, no, it wasn't. . . I didn't think it was a bad kiss." "Oh, thank the stars." His head fell back against the chair. "Because if I'd ruined that for you, I was going to feel like such a cad.

A true gentleman is at a disadvantage in dealing with women. Women are realists, and their tactics are realistic, so no man should be a gentleman where women are concerned unless the women are very, very old or very, very young. Women admire gentlemen, and sleep with cads.

Americans are pushy, obnoxious, neurotic, crass - anything and everything - the full catastrophe as our friend Zorba might say. Canadians are none of that. The way you might fear a cow sitting down in the middle of the street during rush hour, that's how I fear Canadians. To Canadians, everyone is equal. Joni Mitchell is interchangeable with a secretary at open-mic night. Frank Gehry is no greater than a hack pumping out McMansions on AutoCAD. John Candy is no funnier than Uncle Lou when he gets a couple of beers in him. No wonder the only Canadians anyone's ever heard of are the ones who have gotten the hell out. Anyone with talent who stayed would be flattened under an avalanche of equality. The thing Canadians don't understand is that some people are extraordinary and should be treated as such.

Cad é an mhaith dom eagla a bheith orm? Ní shaorfadh eagla duine ón mbás, dar ndóigh.

If anyone should talk to her," Renfield piped up, "it should be me. We're the most compatible, culturewise. I'm sure that on top of feeling as if she's been thrust into one of the many levels of Hades, with all of its attendant demons, she feels like a lady wandering, lost, amongst the mannerless cads of the slums." We were all silent for a moment before Tom asked, "You do realize that we're sitting right here, right?" "Oh, I am horribly aware of this fact." "Just checking.

Do you want to know why you don't meet my standards?" he asked. She shook her head in mortification. "Too late," he replied. "Here's my most important rule: Never have intercourse when one of the parties is in love with the other. It won't end well." She gasped. "You arrogant cad! I'm not in love with you." "I know." He didn't look away from her. "Isn't that what I said? Only one of us is in love, and it isn't you." Violet stared at him. Her ears appeared to be working; her brain seemed to function. Tentatively, she added two and three and verified that they still made five.

It's not unsporting to thrash a cowardly cad,' said Simmons. 'Everyone knows you don't fight like a gentleman.' 'That might be called an oxymoron,' Ramses said. 'Oh--sorry. Bad form to use long words. Look it up when you get home.' The poor devil didn't know how to fight, like a gentleman or otherwise.

I know I can't do things like love by halves, I know I have love pent up in me, I shall throw myself away, lose my heart and my body and my mind and soul to some cad like G.P. Who'll betray me. I feel it.

Şi totuşi înţelegeam că e un lux să poţi rămîne în afară de agitaţia lumii şi s-o priveşti cu liniştea cu care stai într-un loc bun la teatru şi vezi cum se agită pe scenă, costumaţi, în anumite piese, actorii care răguşesc debitînd tirade eroice, se luptă cu spada care sună a tinichea, cad şi se ridică.

Well, Dr. Elpinoy will never admit it, but he suffers from performance anxiety-" "Oh, shut up, you old cad," Elpinoy said, finally uncrossing his arms.

Uncle Aidan?” Percy began. “Yeah?” “Don’t you think you ought to marry Emma?” Aidan jerked his head up, slamming it against the trunk lid. “FUCK!” he shouted as he saw stars before his eyes. A few more expletives escaped his lips as pain raged through his skull. “Nice mouth you got there,” John chided. Gritting his teeth, Aidan rubbed his aching head. “You mention that one to your mom, and I’ll tell her about your ball-sack comment.” John’s eyes widened. “Dude, that is so not cool!” “Yeah, well, deal with it.” Aidan started to resume gathering up the bags when he noticed Percy staring expectantly at him for an answer. Aidan sighed. “Perce—” His blonde brows knitted together. “Don’t you love her?” “Oh Christ,” Aidan muttered, raking his hand through his hair. He winced as pain once again shot through his head. “Did your mom put you up to this or something?” “No. When I asked her the same question, she just said that you were a cad.” Percy shrugged. “I don’t even know what that means.” “I’m pretty sure it’s a dude who acts like a douchebag to women,” John said. Aidan glared over at John. “I am not a cad!

It was tied with a Windsor knot. Bond mistrusted anyone who tied his tie with a Windsor knot. It showed too much vanity. It was often the mark of a cad. Bond decided to forget his prejudice.

A magnificent cad, you mean. He's positively gaping at your bosom, Lyddie!" Mariah said in a scandalized whisper. "I swear he's undressing you with his eyes!" Lydia's lip twitched. "How lurid you sound. I really must censure your reading material." "There can be no doubt you have his attention now," Mariah giggled.

E curios cum sub regimurile de libertate oamenii cad sub o tiranie: cea a locului comun. Şi mă întreb daca nu e mai tristă decît oricare alta.

But you are a cad and I am a lady,” I breathed. “We are as unlikely as a fish and a dandelion finding truest love.

I have been a drop in the air. I have been a shining star. I have been a word in a book. —“Cad Goddeu” (“The Battle of the Trees”), translated by Robert Graves, The White Goddess

To Canadians, everyone is equal. Joni Mitchell is interchangeable with a secretary at open-mic night. Frank Gehry is no greater than a hack pumping out McMansions on AutoCAD. John Candy is no funnier than Uncle Lou when he gets a couple of beers in him. No wonder the only Canadians anyone’s ever heard of are the ones who have gotten the hell out. Anyone with talent who stayed would be flattened under an avalanche of equality.

Am I right in suggesting that ordinary life is a mean between these extremes, that the noble man devotes his material wealth to lofty ends, the advancement of science, or art, or some such true ideal; and that the base man does the opposite by concentrating all his abilities on the amassing of wealth?' Exactly; that is the real distinction between the artist and the bourgeois, or, if you prefer it, between the gentleman and the cad. Money, and the things money can buy, have no value, for there is no question of creation, but only of exchange. Houses, lands, gold, jewels, even existing works of art, may be tossed about from one hand to another; they are so, constantly. But neither you nor I can write a sonnet; and what we have, our appreciation of art, we did not buy. We inherited the germ of it, and we developed it by the sweat of our brows. The possession of money helped us, but only by giving us time and opportunity and the means of travel. Anyhow, the principle is clear; one must sacrifice the lower to the higher, and, as the Greeks did with their oxen, one must fatten and bedeck the lower, so that it may be the worthier offering.

Isi intindea tot timpul palma pe marinea pupitrului ca sa prinda cat mai bine o gama imaginara. Mi-ar fi placut sa am linistea ei. O admiram ca nu se cheltuieste pentru nimeni si nimic; si totusi intelegeam ca e un lux sa poti ramane in afara de agitatia lumii si s-o privesticu linistea cu care stai intr-un loc bun la teatru si vezi cum se agita pe scena, costumati in anumite piese, actori care ragusesc debitand tirade eroice, se lupta cu spada care suna a tinichea cad si se ridica.

Cad. Fireşte, cad, întotdeauna cad. Cad într-un gol imens, negru, ca un con cu vârful în jos, dar niciodată nu ating vârful conului. Ca şi cum coşmarul nu ar fi strivirea finală, ci însăşi căderea nesfârşită. În vise, întreaga mea viaţă ar putea fi doar o cădere, fără un sens, doar cădere şi atât.

I see the game now. You can't write with ink, and you can't write with your own heart's blood, but you can write with the heart's blood of some one else. You have to be a cad before you can be an artist. O’Henry 'The Plutonian Fire' (1905)

I suppose I'd had, by the standards of that pre-permissive time, a good deal of sex for my age. Girls, or a certain kind of girl, liked me; I had a car-not so common among undergraduates in those days-and I had some money. I wasn't ugly; and even more important, I had my loneliness, which, as every cad knows, is a deadly weapon with women. My 'technique' was to make a show of unpredictability, cynicism, and indifference. Then, like a conjurer with his white rabbit, I produced the solitary heart.

A cad of the lowest order with a soul as black as his fingernails.

You, sir, are a fiend,” Dex declared, his finger poking Sloane in the chest. “A fiend, and a cad, and a… a… sugar thief! Thief!” Everyone

Caine was a murderer. A liar. A cad. A skulker in shadows and a heartless wretch. What sort of woman or God would love someone like him?

Men are encouraged into ‘cad’ mode, pursuing temporary relationships that offer all of the pleasures of cheap sex and none of the responsibilities of commitment.

but no one except a cad likes to reflect that he has been loved more than he has loved. It produces an uneasy though quite unreasonable sense of guilt. So Sebastian went himself to fetch his hat.

Most children seem eager, even desperate, to please those in authority, reluctant to rock the boat even when the boat clearly needs rocking. In a way, an occasional roll-your-eyes story of excess in the other direction marks the exception that proves the rule. And the rule is a silent epidemic of obedience. For every kid who is slapped with the label “Oppositional Defiant Disorder,” hundreds suffer from what one educator has mischievously called Compliance Acquiescent Disorder. The symptoms of CAD, he explained, include the following: “defers to authority,” “actively obeys rules,” “fails to argue back,” “knuckles under instead of mobilizing others in support,” and “stays restrained when outrage is warranted.

Discouragement, fear, and depression— three villains who lurk in the dark. They slip inside souls with a blindfold and goals to shatter your dreams and extinguish your spark. Their tactics are highly effective. They crush a great many each day. And under their spell it is easy to dwell On fiascoes and failures that end in dismay. The heart and the mind are left heavy. The last speck of will is erased. And nothing stays on when these villains are gone but a mouthful of bile with the bitterest taste. Alas! You must conquer the scoundrels! Elude, dodge, and keep them at bay! To feel fear slink in, boring under your skin, is a sign that his brothers are well on their way. So reach for your weapons against them! Take hope and hard work in each hand! Strap faith on your hips and a prayer on your lips and show those debasers how firmly you stand! Discouragement, fear and depression— the truth should be known of these cads. They’re empty and weak; it is your strength they seek. Deny them and life is your wish in the bag.

Tina, finding herself and her husband on a sandbank, so to speak, between two classes, had gone to the artists. The artists do not mind if one is gentry or a common cad so long as one is neither a snob nor a bore

Asa, intr-o zi de vara valurile se aduna, se inalta, cumpanindu-se, si cad; se aduna si cad; si universul intreg pare sa spuna, sa spuna mereu, “asta e tot” mereu mai apasat, iar inima din trupul care sta intins la soare pe tarm spune si ea. Asta e tot. Nu te mai teme, spune inima. Nu te mai teme,spune inima, incredintandu-si povara vreunei mari care suspina obstesc pentru toate tristetile; si reia, incepe, aduna, lasa sa cada.

But for the rest of us, cool has a shelf life. If you’re a quarterback in high school, you’re cool. But ten years later, working as a sullen bouncer at the only nightclub in town, your “cool” is on life support. Which is why so many young girls who never said no end up with losers in pants hanging below their asses and no known income to speak of. These cads were charming in high school; now they’re as useless as shoulder pads on a snake.

Nu înțeleg nimic din ceea ce se petrece în jurul meu și continui să"cad" în viață printre întâmplări și decoruri,printre clipe și oameni,printre culori și muzici,tot mai vertiginos,secundă cu secundă,tot mai profund,fără sens,ca într-un puț cu pereții zugrăviți cu fapte și oameni,în care căderea mea nu este decât o simplă trecere și o simplă traiectorie în vid,constituind totuși ceea ce e bizar și fără justificare s-ar putea numi "a-mi trăi viața proprie...

ECassChoosesPikachu: Patrick’s new favorite joke: What do you call an alligator in a vest? An “investigator” HA! JoseyInHeels to ECassChoosesPikachu: The kid needs better jokes SeanCassinova to ECassChoosesPikachu: MY NEPHEW IS BRILLIANT!

But that’s who I was when I drank, a careless, greedy fucktard. She

I suppose the cave-woman sometimes felt rather relieved when everything was settled for her with a club, but I'm sure the caveman must have had a hard time ridding himself of the thought that he had behaved like a cad and taken a mean advantage.

Scrisul e o introspectie indelungata, o calatorie catre grotele cele mai ascunse ale constiintei, o meditatie lenta. Scriu pipaind tacerea, descoperind particule de adevar, mici cristale care-mi cad in palma si-mi justifica trecerea pe aceasta lume.

Did he have to be so intimidating? Carpathian males were all enormously strong; they didn't need to look it. There was no need for his huge chest and bulging arms and thighs like oak trees. She had started out with bravado, determined not to be intimidated, but he was power personified. "I am reading your mind," he mentioned softly. She hated her traitorous body, the way it dissolved at the sight of him and the sound of his velvet, caressing voice. "I told you to stay out of my mind." "It is a habit, ma petite." She flung another pillow at him. "Don't you dare bring up the wolf. I'm sure our laws forbade such a thing. You're a cad, Gregori, and you're not even sorry." "Remove your clothes, Savannah.

Listen to that voice that tells you not to trust someone, even though he's deliciously charming, remember Wickham and Willoughby and all those cads. And give another man a chance, even though he's not your usual type - remember Mr Knightly and Colonel Brandon and all those quiet heroes.

All day, I worried—what if she resorts to the bathrobe sweater at the last minute? What if she gets something in her teeth and doesn’t notice? What if this guy doesn’t see how totally adorable she is? What if he hurts her feelings? Saturday night, I went to a movie with a friend, but the whole night I was checking my phone to see if my mother had called or texted. When she finally called at midnight, I picked up the phone on the first ring. “How was it?” “Aw, it didn’t go so well.” My heart sank. I was already hatching revenge plots against the cad when she continued, “He was nice, but I’m not sure I’m interested.” I breathed a sigh of relief. Not everyone is lucky enough to hang out with my fashionable, smooth, totally cool mom. Just me.

She is not plain. She is extraordinary.” The dowager dismissed his statement with the wave of her wrinkled hand. “You are clearly suffering a visual disorder of some kind. Perhaps you and Jane should wear matching spectacles.

Mrs. Wellington was wearing a voluminous flannel nightgown when she answered the door. Hamish was glad Mr. Wellington had found God, because it certainly looked as if he would need to wait until he got to heaven to get his reward.

You deny our vows. You deny my rights. You abuse my pride and leave me nothing of yourself. You send me from you on some lackey's strength. You betray me at every turn." Shanna met his glare and hurled a fierce reply. "You took my heart and set your fingers firm around it, then, no doubt delighted at your success, you rent it with unfaithfulness." "Unfaithfulness is only from a husband. You play the same to me and yet do say I am no spouse." "You plead you are my husband true and spite the suitors come to woo me." "Yea!" Ruark raged. "Your suitors flock about your skirts in heated lust, and you yield them more than me." Shanna paused before him, rage etched upon her face. "You're a churlish cad!" "They fondle you boldly and you set not their hands away from you." "A knavish blackguard!" "You are a married woman!" "I am a widow!" "You are my wife!" Ruark shouted to be heard over the rising wind outside.

Without another word, he lifted her into the carriage and drove her home. He seemed impervious to the cold shoulder she gave him, which irritated her almost as much as the knowing way he had looked at her when he had kissed her senseless. In fact, although his face was stern, he seemed downright cheerful, the cad!

[...] No consigo olvidar las locuras y los vicios de otros tan pronto como debiera, ni las ofensas que se me hacen. Mis sentimientos no se modifican cad vez que se intenta influir sobre ellos. Quizá pueda decirse que tiendo al resentimiento. Cuando pierdo mi buena opinión sobre alguien o algo, perdido está para siempre

Captain John Sommers joined his brother and sister in the library, "Do you remember Jacob Todd? -The cad who defrauded us with that yarn about missions in Tierra del Fuego? asked Jeremy Sommers. -The same... He changed his name. Now he calls himself Jacob Freemont, and he's a newspaperman in San Francisco. -Egad! So it is true that in the United States any scoundrel may begin a new life? -Jacob Todd paid for his offense several times over. I think it is splendid that there is a country where a man can have a second chance.

Perhaps I do not have the sense to tell a duke from a dray horse. But such a thing might prove easier if the former did not so perfectly resemble the latter’s backside.” The

Stupid heart. Stop swelling. Swelling is bad for you. Stay small and protected.

You are a rogue!” she cursed. “Nothing but a rake! A cad! A beast! A cur!” She stuttered, continuing to struggle. “Run out of insults, milady?

Bond mistrusted anyone who tied his tie with a Windsor knot. It showed too much vanity. It was often the mark of a cad. Bond

Only a cad as low as a thief Would write in a book or turn down a leaf, Since 'tis thievery, as well is known, To make free with that which is not our own.

The soap-box orators talked in the bitter cold at Marble Arch with their mackintoshes turned up around their Adam's apples, and all down the road the cad cars waited for the right easy girls, and the cheap prostitutes sat hopelessly in the shadows, and the blackmailers kept an eye open on the grass where the deeds of darkness were quietly and unsatisfactorily accomplished.

Cassio is a ladies’ man, that is to say, a man who feels most at home in feminine company where his looks and good manners make him popular, but is ill at ease in the company of his own sex because he is unsure of his own masculinity. […] Cassio is a ladies’ man, not a seducer. With women of his own class, what he enjoys is socialized eroticism; he would be frightened of a serious personal passion. For physical sex he goes to prostitutes and when, unexpectedly, Bianca falls in love with him, like many of his kind, he behaves like a cad and brags of his conquest to others.

So yes,” Sean gave me a pointed look, “I approve of it wholeheartedly. In fact, seduce her again.” I coughed, choking on nothing, and sputtered, “What? What did you say?” “I said seduce her. And do it now. She has more unresolved feelings for you than Jennifer has for Brad.” He paused, then added, “And do a good job. Do a great job.” I stared at him for several seconds, dumbfounded. “Of course I’ll do a great job.” Sean pointed at me accusingly. “I’m serious. Look up some moves or watch some videos, do whatever it takes to make sure she enjoys herself.” Now I was offended. “Fuck you, Sean. Of course she’ll enjoy herself. She’ll like it so much she’ll beg for-” “Hey.” My teammate narrowed his eyes, slicing his hand through the air. “I don’t need or want to know the specifics. I’m just saying, take good care of her. Take excellent care of her. Give her everything she needs. And don’t be selfish.” “I won’t be.” I shook my head with the denial, staring at Sean. Staring at him because . . . Did he just tell me to seduce his cousin?

Sunt în criză, şi nu am timp decât pentru dragoste, însă timpul meu este terestru, şi nu coincide cu timpul din cer, aşa că prefer să cad în cer în căutarea dragostei. Chiar dacă în cer, între timp, e o furtună.

Bryan turned, his gaze sweeping over the playground, and I watched his profile. I knew the exact moment his eyes found Patrick. Bryan’s expression became one of wonder. And in that moment, I believed in love at first sight, because I’d just witnessed it. I’d just witnessed a man fall head over heels in love with his own son.

St. George’s Chapel is at the bottom of the hill inside the castle walls, and though it is quaint compared to Westminster Abbey, I love it—the spectacular fan vaulting in the ceiling, the surprisingly intimate chapel with its wood-carved stalls, and the graves of at least ten monarchs, including that infamous cad Henry VIII (buried with his third wife, Jane Seymour, his favorite on account of her not living long enough to irritate him).

We have good news and bad news. The good news is that the dismal vision of human sexuality reflected in the standard narrative is mistaken. Men have not evolved to be deceitful cads, nor have millions of years shaped women into lying, two-timing gold-diggers. But the bad news is that the amoral agencies of evolution have created in us a species with a secret it just can’t keep. Homo sapiens evolved to be shamelessly, undeniably, inescapably sexual. Lusty libertines.

Look, Hirianthial,” she said, trying to find the words that would make him go away. He just watched her struggles with that courtly calm like someone out of her monthly romance squirt—ah! “Look, Hirianthial, I appreciate your concern but we’ve only just met and it would hardly be... uh, appropriate for you to see me in my bedchambers.” “Your bedchambers?” Hirianthial asked, lifting that infuriating white brow again. “Yes, you know. The lady bit? Me in a nightgown? You’re supposed to be a gentleman about this and not chase me into my room.” He laughed, the cad.

Uneori, îmi aduc aminte, pe vremea când o făceam pe craiul, părăseam o femeie din cauza unei pete pe ciorap, din cauza unui cuvânt stupid...și acum iert orice: mestecatul, ..., lipsa de îngrijire, discuțiile lungi despre oul pe care l-a mâncat. Și eu iert astea aproape inconștient, fără a-mi silui voința, de parca greșelile Sașei sunt ale mele, iar multe dintre cele care odinioară mă chinuiau, mă fac acum să mă înduioșez sau să cad în extaz. Motivul acestei iertări complete se află în iubirea mea pentru Sașa, dar unde sunt motivele iubirii înseși, asta nu mai știu...

Sunt încărcat cu amintiri ca un măr, în toamnă. Scuturați pomul și, dacă nu cad destule fructe, dați cu pietre în el, sau, și mai bine, loviți-i fiecare creangă cu prăjina. Pentru mine, amintirile sunt o grea povară. Iau de pe inima mea o parte din această povară cu fiecare carte pe care o scriu.

Why are you doing this to me?” “Because you are not forgettable.” His voice deepened and sounded gruff with frustration. “I can’t have you believing that. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since Will’s birthday party, and trust me, I’ve tried. I have a spider plant at home that is very much alive as proof.

The way you might fear a cow sitting down in the middle of the street during rush hour, that’s how I fear Canadians. To Canadians, everyone is equal. Joni Mitchell is interchangeable with a secretary at open-mic night. Frank Gehry is no greater than a hack pumping out McMansions on AutoCAD. John Candy is no funnier than Uncle Lou when he gets a couple of beers in him. No wonder the only Canadians anyone’s ever heard of are the ones who have gotten the hell out. Anyone with talent who stayed would be flattened under an avalanche of equality. The thing Canadians don’t understand is that some people are extraordinary and should be treated as such.

I covered my mouth to suffocate the errant sob, squeezing my eyes shut, and hoping when I opened them it would be three months ago, the night of Ronan and Annie’s wedding. The night I’d fucked up so royally that I’d apparently acquired the superpower of changing the color of HCG strips with my pee. WITH MY PEE! Which meant I had a new human inside me. Which explained all my other superpowers, like being a raging bitch all the time, and crying at nothing, and throwing up twice every day.

Aye, it’s an unfair world when you think of it. If that man had been a woman, he’d have been called a harlot!

like most thin-skinned people who have been snubbed, he could not leave the snubbers alone.

ECassChoosesPikachu: What does not kill us merely lowers our defenses for the next shit storm to finish us off. SeanCassinova to ECassChoosesPikachu: I still have my “Free Hugs” sign.

ECassChoosesPikachu: I’m not crying, I just have onions, pepper spray, and severe acute depression in my eye. SeanCassinova: See you after work, I’ll be the bloke holding the sign: Free Hugs

I’ll slit his damned throat!” “No, you will not.” “Don’t you dare think to tell me what to do, you blasted son of a—” “Your mouth cries for a good bar of soap, madam. Please refrain from such tawdry language, as I do not like it.” “I don’t give a bloody damn what you do or don’t like, you cad!” Refusing to be goaded, he dropped the cloth into the bowl of water and leaned forward, his eyes hard, intent, determined. “I said, enough.

We have good news and bad news. The good news is that the dismal vision of human sexuality reflected in the standard narrative is mistaken. Men have not evolved to be deceitful cads, nor have millions of years shaped women into lying, two-timing gold-diggers. But the bad news is that the amoral agencies of evolution have created in us a species with a secret it just can’t keep. Homo sapiens evolved to be shamelessly, undeniably, inescapably sexual. Lusty libertines. Rakes, rogues, and roués. Tomcats and sex kittens. Horndogs. Bitches in heat.1 True, some of us manage to rise above this aspect of our nature (or to sink below it). But these preconscious impulses remain our biological baseline, our reference point, the zero in our own personal number system. Our evolved tendencies are considered “normal” by the body each of us occupies. Willpower fortified with plenty of guilt, fear, shame, and mutilation of body and soul may provide some control over these urges and impulses. Sometimes. Occasionally. Once in a blue moon. But even when controlled, they refuse to be ignored. As German philosopher Arthur Schopenhauer pointed out, Mensch kann tun was er will; er kann aber nicht wollen was er will. (One can choose what to do, but not what to want.) Acknowledged or not, these evolved yearnings persist and clamor for our attention. And there are costs involved in denying one’s evolved sexual nature, costs paid by individuals, couples, families, and societies every day and every night. They are paid in what E. O. Wilson called “the less tangible currency of human happiness that must be spent to circumvent our natural predispositions.”2 Whether or not our society’s investment in sexual repression is a net gain or loss is a question for another time. For now, we’ll just suggest that trying to rise above nature is always a risky, exhausting endeavor, often resulting in spectacular collapse. Any attempt to understand who we are, how we got to be this way, and what to do about it must begin by facing up to our evolved human sexual predispositions. Why do so many forces resist our sustained fulfillment? Why is conventional marriage so much damned work? How has the incessant, grinding campaign of socio-scientific insistence upon the naturalness of sexual monogamy combined with a couple thousand years of fire and brimstone failed to rid even the priests, preachers, politicians, and professors of their prohibited desires? To see ourselves as we are, we must begin by acknowledging that of all Earth’s creatures, none is as urgently, creatively, and constantly sexual as Homo sapiens.

Nu înțeleg nimic din ceea ce se petrece în jurul meu și continui "cad" în viață printre întâmplări și decoruri,printre clipe și oameni,printre culori și muzici,tot mai vertiginos,secundă cu secundă,tot mai profund,fără sens,ca într-un puț cu pereții zugrăviți cu fapte și oameni,în care căderea mea nu este decât o simplă trecere și o simplă traiectorie în vid,constituind totuși ceea ce e bizar și fără justificare s-ar putea numi "a-mi trăi viața proprie...

Social consciousness has become a gimmick to excuse reprehensible behavior. In fact, put “social” before any word, and it becomes “important” and “compassionate.” At its worst, social consciousness masks evil—it’s flimflam for the foul, a condemnation condom. Social consciousness won Al Sharpton invites to the White House, despite the cad’s ruining countless lives since his garish orgy of racial exploitation that began with the Tawana Brawley case in 1987.

Singurul lucru care îți vindecă dependența este să acționezi în sensul desprinderii de celălalt. Dependența este similară sinuciderii. Este cea mai periculoasă stare a unui cuplu. Când cei doi nu stau pe propriile picioare, la prima adiere mai puternică de vânt se clatină și cad. Nu ești tu când ești dependent. Ești celălalt. E frumos să te pierzi în celălalt, da trebuie să știi mereu drumul de întoarcere la tine. Când nu te mai întorci la tine, creezi boala.

Practicăm alchimia pe dos: atingem aurul şi-l prefacem în plumb; atingem liricul pur al experienţei şi-l prefacem în echivalente verbale de măruntaie şi lături. Cât de intolerabil de rudimentară ne este limba! Dacă nu menţionezi corelativele filosofice ale emoţiei, prezinţi denaturat faptele. Dar dacă le menţionezi, rişti să apari cinic şi vulgar. Că e pasiunea sau atracţia moliei pentru stea, că e tandreţe, adoraţie sau năzuinţă romantică — iubirea este însoţită de fenomene la nivelul terminaţiilor nervoase, al pielii, al membranelor mucoase sau ţesuturilor glandulare şi erectile. Cei ce nu spun asta sunt mincinoşi. Cei ce o spun sunt catalogaţi obsceni. Bineînţeles, vina o poartă filosofia noastră de viaţă; şi filosofia noastră de viaţă este în mod inevitabil un produs adiacent al limbii care separă în idee ceea ce în fapt ese întotdeauna inseparabil. Separă şi evaluează în acelaşi timp. Una dintre abstracţii este «bine»; cealaltă «rău». Nu judecaţi ca să nu fiţi judecaţi. Dar limba are o astfel de natură, încât nu poţi să nu judeci. Ceea ce ne trebuie cu adevărat este un alt set de cuvinte, cuvinte care să poată exprima unitatea naturală a lucrurilor. Tot ce-ţi rămâne de făcut este să te bălăceşti în metafore. O soluţie suprasaturată de sentimente ce poate fi cristalizată fie din interior, fie din exterior. Cuvinte şi evenimente ce cad în supa psiho-fizică şi o îngroaşă cu cheagurile producătoare de acţiune ale emoţiei şi sentimentului.

If you work and do pure research in this industry as long as I have – and you actually pay attention and do your homework, then this naked and raw truth stands out -> The supplement world of cancer-fighters, CAD-preventers, health-promoters, magic-water – AND/OR - muscle-builders, fat-burners and weight-loss agents – all of them – already have an over-crowded mass grave-yard of previous magic bullets that would supposedly make your life and/or body better – Yes, so promising and heavily promoted “this” era – but so dead and gone the next – leaving in their wake a trail of mass-consumer confusion – but also leaving their actual intention -> a new generation of passive consumers – those who can’t differentiate the sizzle from the steak. Or as W.C. Fields put it so long ago – “There’s a sucker born every minute.” -> There isn’t a supplement on the planet that marks the difference between ‘health or ill-health’ – or between ‘fit or fat.’ - or between ‘results and stagnation.

In timp ce mor...o sa imi las bucati din suflet pe marginea vietii tale. Dupa ce nu o sa mai fiu, sa te opresti cand ti-e dor, sa le iei, sa iti amintesti cat de mult te-am iubit si sa razi. Tu nu o sa crezi cat de mult te-am iubit decat atunci cand nu o sa mai fiu, pentru ca atunci o sa respiri mai greu. O sa te astept pe un colt de nor. Cand ploua sa stii ca m-am dezechilibrat. Nu stiu cat de jos o sa cad. S-ar putea ca in unele vise sa te trezesti cu mine in pat. Nu o sa fac galagie. Cel mult o sa-ti las pe perna parfum de crini albi pentru ca dimineata sa zambesti.

I know you think I’ve behaved like a cad, so I’m coming clean. I love you, Tess. I have for a long time. I ache for you. Every morning I wake up, wishing you were in my arms. Back when Cassie was at her mom’s, I was relieved to be thinking about you and not her so much anymore, until I realized it meant that I was in love with you. I fell for you that first morning, when I saw you coming out of the garage with Dave. I couldn’t tell you the other day, but I wanted you to know.” He leaned in and kissed her cheek. “Maybe I have been protecting myself, but mostly, I wanted to protect you.

She whirled, intending to head back down the stairs. Carter caught her wrist. “You can ride down with me.” More heat flooded her face, and the afternoon sun seemed to pour down with greater intensity. She considered walking away, but the pain in her backside predicted a less than ladylike gait. He’d see her waddle, and her humiliation would double. But riding down the toboggan run with him? “Carter, I’m not sure.” His eyes darkened. “Is it because of earlier?” “Aw, ease up on her, Stockton.” Ducky stepped forward. “It’s not her fault if she doesn’t want to be around a cad like you. Walking into ladies’ bathhouses and all.” Comfortable teasing laced his voice. “She can take my toboggan, and I’ll ride down with you.” He flopped the toboggan down on the deck and held out his hand. “Will that work, Miss Graham?” “Yes, thank you very much.” She took his hand and gingerly seated herself. Picking up the reins on the toboggan, she turned to nod to Ducky to release her. Instead, she found Carter. Her eyes widened. “Hold on.” The smile had crept back into his voice. “You’re about to go on the ride of your life.” The sled lunged forward and her stomach lodged in her throat—not from the ride as much as the unspoken promise Carter’s words seemed to hold.

Is there for honest Poverty That hings his head, an' a' that; The coward slave-we pass him by, We dare be poor for a' that! For a' that, an' a' that. Our toils obscure an' a' that, The rank is but the guinea's stamp, The Man's the gowd for a' that. What though on hamely fare we dine, Wear hoddin grey, an' a that; Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine; A Man's a Man for a' that: For a' that, and a' that, Their tinsel show, an' a' that; The honest man, tho' e'er sae poor, Is king o' men for a' that. Ye see yon birkie, ca'd a lord, Wha struts, an' stares, an' a' that; Tho' hundreds worship at his word, He's but a coof for a' that: For a' that, an' a' that, His ribband, star, an' a' that: The man o' independent mind He looks an' laughs at a' that. A prince can mak a belted knight, A marquis, duke, an' a' that; But an honest man's abon his might, Gude faith, he maunna fa' that! For a' that, an' a' that, Their dignities an' a' that; The pith o' sense, an' pride o' worth, Are higher rank than a' that. Then let us pray that come it may, (As come it will for a' that,) That Sense and Worth, o'er a' the earth, Shall bear the gree, an' a' that. For a' that, an' a' that, It's coming yet for a' that, That Man to Man, the world o'er, Shall brothers be for a' that.

I couldn’t stop wondering about what he meant when he said she’d been through a lot. It was out of the ordinary for me to be this curious about a virtual stranger. Then again, I was still figuring out what my ordinary was. Maybe I’d always been a busybody, just too shitfaced all the time to indulge the impulse. This thought made me grin.

Te miri cum frumuseţea ne dă iluzia deplină a binelui. Când o femeie frumoasă îndrugă prostii, o asculţi şi nu-i observi prostia, ci tot ce-ţi spune ţi se pare inteligent. Vorbeşte şi se poartă oribil şi tu vezi în asta ceva drăgălaş. Dacă însă nici nu spune prostii nici nu face lucruri urâte şi mai e şi frumoasă, te convingi numaidecât că e un miracol de deşteptăciune şi de moralitate. Milioane de oameni, generaţii de robi cad victimă muncii silnice din fabrici numai pentru a satisface capriciile femeilor. Femeile, aidoma unor regine, ţin nouăzeci la sută din omenire în captivitatea lor şi în sclavia muncii grele… Ele se răzbună, acţionând asupra simţurilor noastre, prinzându-ne în mrejele lor. Da, totul purcede de aici. Femeile au făurit din ele însele o atât de puternică armă de acţionare asupra simţurilor, încât bărbatul nu se poate purta calm faţă de femeie. E de ajuns bărbatul să se apropie de femeie ca să cadă pradă vrăjii ei şi să-şi piardă capul. Şi odinioară mă simţeam totdeauna prost, stingherit când vedeam o doamnă gătită de bal; acum, însă mă cuprinde de-a dreptul groaza, văd în ea pur şi simplu o primejdie pentru oameni, o nelegiuire, şi-mi vine să chem Poliţia, să strig după ajutor. Căci numai noi, bărbaţii, nu ştim şi, fiindcă nu vrem să ştim, pe câtă vreme femeile ştiu foarte bine că cea mai sublimă, cea mai poetică dragoste, cum îi spunem noi, nu depinde de însuşirile morale ale femeii, ce de apropierea fizică şi totodată de pieptănătură, de culoarea şi croiala rochiei. Oamenii se căsătoresc fără să vadă în căsătorie altceva decât o împerechere şi rezultatul este fie înşelăciunea, fie silnicia. Înşelăciunea e mai uşor de suportat. Bărbatul şi soţia înşeală numai lumea, lăsând să se creadă că ar fi monogami, când în realitate trăiesc poligamie sau poliandrie. Şi asta e destul de greu, dar mai merge. Când însă – şi lucru acesta se întâmplă cel mai adesea – soţul şi soţia şi-au asumat obligaţia formală de a trăi toată viaţa împreună şi chiar din a doua lună a căsniciei încep a se urî unul pe altul, doresc să se despartă şi totuşi stau laolaltă, atunci ajung la acel infern îngrozitor, care-i duce la beţie, care-i face să se împuşte, să se omoare sau să-şi otrăvească fiecare viaţa lui şi pe a celuilalt

Sean was quiet for a beat, then pushed, “Don’t be so sure.” I snorted, scoffed, then shook my head. “Come on, Sean. Don’t you think you’re getting ahead of yourself? He just found out on Monday that he has a son. He’s just meeting him today.” “Yes, but I warned you, Bryan is sturdy.” “Like a table. You won’t let me forget.” “That’s right. Like a table. Or an exceptionally well-crafted chair. The point is, he wants to be sturdy. For someone

I arched a brow. “Something funny?” Her mouth formed a tight line. “Nope.” I approached her. “You sure?” Her gaze flicked to mine, then away. “Uh-huh.” “Okay, then.” I turned and headed over to grab the last of our things. “It’s just . . .” Eilish began and then trailed off. “Yes?” She shook her head and finally let her giggles flow free. I couldn’t help smiling, too, even though I wasn’t entirely sure an inconvenient hard-on warranted so much laughter. It was infectious all the same. She gestured to the retreating group of tourists. “I studied German at school, so I can pick out certain words. One of the women commented about you to her friend.” I smirked. “Oh yeah? What did she say?” She dabbed the wetness from the corners of her eyes. “Something along the lines of a bratwurst big enough to feed an army.” My smirk died. “I wish I hadn’t asked.” “Really? I thought men enjoyed compliments about that . . . particular area.” “They do. But armies are generally made up of a bunch of blokes.” I arched a brow meaningfully. A loud burst of laughter escaped her, and she clamped her hand over mouth. God, she was too fucking adorable. She sucked in a breath, finally calming down from her fit of giggles. “You’re too much, Bryan Leech.” “That’s what the German ladies think anyway,” I deadpanned, my smirk returning. Eilish burst into laughter all over again.

What did you do?” Rubbing my forehead, I grimaced, preparing myself for Josey’s reaction. “I went into the bathroom. When I came back out ten minutes later, he was gone.” Her mouth fell open and she gave me her uneven-eyes stare, where she made one eye slightly larger than the other. “Don’t give me that look.” “What look?” “That look. The one you use instead of saying you’re a fecking eejit.” “Oh, that look.” She blinked and her eye sizes normalized. “Was I giving you that look?” “Yes.” “Good.

Jumping into action, I chased after them to the bank of lifts. Sean pressed the button to go down as I caught up to them. “Talk to me. Give me ten minutes.” She turned to look at me, a galaxy of emotion in her eyes. “There’s nothing—” “Please,” I urged, almost begging. The lift doors slid open and she stepped inside. I followed suit, while Sean hung back. “Actually, I need to use the bathroom. I’ll meet you in the lobby, Eilish,” he said just as the doors closed. “Sean!” she yelled, but he was already gone. If looks could kill, Cassidy would be six feet under. Eilish glared at the smooth, polished metal with absolute murder in her eyes. I, on the other hand, could’ve fucking kissed her cousin. With tongue.

I have time for only one drink,” Jordan said, glancing at the ormolu clock on the opposite wall. “I’ve promised Alexandra to stand at her side at a ball tonight and beam approvingly at a friend of hers.” Whenever Jordan mentioned his wife’s name, Ian noted with amusement, the other man’s entire expression softened. “Care to join us?” Ian shook his head and accepted his drink from the footman. “It sounds boring as hell.” “I don’t think it’ll be boring, precisely. My wife has taken it upon herself to defy the entire ton and sponsor the girl back into the ranks. Based on some of the things Alexandra said in her note, that will be no mean feat.” “Why is that?” Ian inquired with more courtesy than interest. Jordan sighed and leaned his head back, weary from the hours he’d been working for the last several weeks and unexcited at the prospect of dancing attendance on a damsel in distress-one he’d never set eyes on. “The girl fell into the clutches of some man two years ago and an ugly scandal ensued.” Thinking of Elizabeth and himself, Ian said casually, “That’s not an uncommon occurrence, evidently.” “From what Alex wrote me, it seems this case is rather extreme.” “In what way?” “For one thing, there’s every chance the young woman will get the cut direct tonight from half the ton-and that’s the half that will be willing to acknowledge her. Alex has retaliated by calling in the heavy guns-my grandmother, to be exact, and Tony and myself, to a lesser degree. The object is to try to brave it out, but I don’t envy the girl. Unless I miss my guess, she’s going to be flayed alive by the wagging tongues tonight. Whatever the bastard did,” Jordan finished, downing his drink and starting to straighten in his chair, “it was damaging as hell. The girl-who’s purported to be incredibly beautiful, by the way-has been a social outcast for nearly two years.” Ian stiffened, his glass arrested partway to his mouth, his sharpened gaze on Jordan, who was already starting to rise. “Who’s the girl?” he demanded tautly. “Elizabeth Cameron.” “Oh, Christ!” Ian exploded, surging out of his chair and snatching up his evening jacket. “Where are they?” “At the Willington’s. Why?” “Because,” Ian bit out, impatiently shrugging into his jacket and tugging the frilled cuffs of his shirt into place, “I’m the bastard who did it.” An indescribable expression flashed across the Duke of Hawthorne’s face as he, too, pulled on his evening jacket. “You are the man Alexandra described in her note as an ‘unspeakable cad, vile libertine,’ and ‘despoiler of innocents’?” “I’m all that and more,” Ian replied grimly, stalking toward the door with Jordan Townsende beside him. “You go to the Willingtons’ as quickly as you can,” he instructed. “I’ll be close behind you, but I’ve a stop to make first. And don’t, for God’s sake, tell Elizabeth I’m on my way.” Ian flung himself into his coach, snapped orders to his driver, and leaned back, counting minutes, telling himself it couldn’t possibly be going as badly for her as he feared it would. And never once did he stop to think that Jordan Townsende had no idea what motives could possibly prompt Elizabeth Cameron’s “despoiler” to be bent on meeting her at the Willington’s ball.

You don’t have to be here,” William offered with his trademark quiet solemnity. I shook my head but kept my eyes fixed on the closed doors at the end of the hall. “No. I wouldn’t miss it.” Would rather be home in my slippers watching Judge Judy, sure, but duty calls. That was my style of party these days. Throw in a slice of Battenberg and some Werther’s Originals and I could go wild on a sugar high. But no, today was William’s birthday, so I was going to try and keep my grumpy old man behavior to a minimum. Try being the operative word. No promises. My teammate, and the guest of honor for this particular party, tugged on the sleeve of my suit jacket and brought us to a stop. “Hey. Seriously. You’re eighteen months sober.” “Has it been eighteen months already?” I stroked the stubble on my chin and cracked a grin. “Time flies when you’re killing house plants.

What was Sean like growing up?” he asked, opening the door to my building and placing his hand on the small of my back. “Oh, ha ha.” I shook my head, my grin automatic. “Basically the same as he is now.” “Really?” “Yes. When he was eight, all he wanted for Christmas was an Italian suit.” William chuckled, insomuch as William chuckled, and blinked once slowly. “I believe it.” “Actually,” I corrected, “he was also obsessed with the SkyMall catalogue. He loves gadgets, which is great for me because I always know what to get him. The odder the gadget, the more he’ll love it.” “Like what?” “Um, let’s see. Like a waffle maker that also warms your maple syrup.” “That’s not that odd. That’s awesome.” “Okay, then how about a serenity cat pod?” I withdrew my keys and faced the door to my apartment, half-hoping, half-despairing that Bryan was already gone. “A what?” “A pod with mood lighting that makes purring sounds and vibrates. It’s like a little bed, but more modern, for your cat.” “He doesn’t have a cat.” “Doesn’t matter. He would’ve loved it.

I left Patrick coloring in his room and darted to the living room, but then I stopped short. Because William and Sean weren’t alone. “Bryan,” I said on a gasp, drawing three sets of eyes to me. “What are you doing here?” He didn’t answer right away. His eyes were wide and surprised as he took in my appearance, trailing over my high heels, bare legs, and form-fitting silk dress. Self-consciously, I glanced at myself again, tugging on the hem. Bryan’s voice was distracted; as though he were talking to himself, he began, “Holy sh—” “You look great.” William stepped in front of his teammate and gave me a warm, if sedate, smile. I frowned at William, then at Bryan—or what I could see of him behind William—then at Sean, who was inspecting my ceiling. My frown deepened. “What’s going on?” “Oh,” Sean chirped, imbuing his tone with forced lightness, “I just thought since you were going out, Patrick, Bryan, and I could have a men’s night in. You know, go through the latest Dolce & Gabbana catalogue, play a friendly game of Mario Kart, teach Patrick how to hook in a scrum. The usual.

From: Bernadette Fox To: Manjula Kapoor Oh! Could you make dinner reservations for us on Thanksgiving? You can call up the Washington Athletic Club and get us something for 7 PM for three. You are able to place calls, aren’t you? Of course, what am I thinking? That’s all you people do now. I recognize it’s slightly odd to ask you to call from India to make a reservation for a place I can see out my window, but here’s the thing: there’s always this one guy who answers the phone, “Washington Athletic Club, how may I direct your call?” And he always says it in this friendly, flat… Canadian way. One of the main reasons I don’t like leaving the house is because I might find myself face-to-face with a Canadian. Seattle is crawling with them. You probably think, U.S./Canada, they’re interchangeable because they’re both filled with English-speaking, morbidly obese white people. Well, Manjula, you couldn’t be more mistaken. Americans are pushy, obnoxious, neurotic, crass—anything and everything—the full catastrophe as our friend Zorba might say. Canadians are none of that. The way you might fear a cow sitting down in the middle of the street during rush hour, that’s how I fear Canadians. To Canadians, everyone is equal. Joni Mitchell is interchangeable with a secretary at open-mic night. Frank Gehry is no greater than a hack pumping out McMansions on AutoCAD. John Candy is no funnier than Uncle Lou when he gets a couple of beers in him. No wonder the only Canadians anyone’s ever heard of are the ones who have gotten the hell out. Anyone with talent who stayed would be flattened under an avalanche of equality. The thing Canadians don’t understand is that some people are extraordinary and should be treated as such. Yes, I’m done. If the WAC can’t take us, which may be the case, because Thanksgiving is only two days away, you can find someplace else on the magical Internet. * I was wondering how we ended up at Daniel’s Broiler for Thanksgiving dinner. That morning, I slept late and came downstairs in my pajamas. I knew it was going to rain because on my way to the kitchen I passed a patchwork of plastic bags and towels. It was a system Mom had invented for when the house leaks.

I just turned thirty and only now am I starting to appreciate all the things I used to think were boring. You know Will? Will Moore, the American, built like a brick wall?” She nodded. “I don’t know if you saw yesterday when you stopped by, but he and I live together now. And keep this between you and me, but most of the time we’d both prefer to stay in and play Scrabble than go out clubbing with the rest of the squad,” I said and winked. Then I tried not to grimace because I’d just winked at her. Why the hell am I winking? She gave a light chuckle, “Yeah, I think I guessed that from the episode outside your neighbor’s apartment.” I didn’t let her comment faze me, instead I plastered on a carefree smile. “I’ll have you know women all over the country would be queuing up to catch a glimpse of me in my PJs. You should count yourself lucky.” “Oh really?” she challenged. “Who are these women? The same ones who go to Daniel O’Donnell concerts and play bingo on a Friday night?” I glared at her playfully. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. I don’t know why any man would sleep naked when they could be wearing a pair of flannel jimjams.

Jogging down the stairs and out the door leading to the player’s hallway, I rehearsed what I would say. I would say, Hello, Bryan. I have a bit of time before the end of the day. Perhaps I could take a look at your knee. Or, I might say, Bryan, let’s have a look at your knee. I hear it’s still giving you trouble. Or maybe, Bryan, I understand you’re having a bit of trouble with your knee. If you have time before the end of the day— “Eilish.” I stopped short, almost colliding with William Moore. Automatically, his beefy hands reached to steady me. “William. Sorry. Sorry about that.” I backed up a step and out of his grip, counting three other players behind him, and swallowed with some difficulty when I realized Bryan was one of them. “You okay?” William asked, dipping his chin to catch my eye. I nodded, looking beyond him, and pointed at Bryan. “You.” Bryan stiffened, his eyes widening. “Me?” “Yes. You. Meniscus tear. Follow me,” I said, turned away from him, and promptly grimaced. Real smooth, E. Real professional. Great job. That wasn’t weird at all. Leading the way to the training room, I didn’t wait to see if he’d followed. I was too busy berating myself for speaking like Tarzan. So much for rehearsing.

I’ve always hated dating,” I said instead. “In fact, if I could bypass all that might I bestow upon you a kiss business, I would. Why can’t we all just skip to the comfortable part of relationships? Go straight to the bit where you can walk around in your undies, let farts go and blame them on the dog, and leave the door open when you’re taking a piss?” “First of all, there is no part of a relationship that should involve that last bit, and second of all, dating is the best part. All those butterflies and excitement, the sexual tension. Wanting to skip to the comfortable bit is laziness. It means you don’t have to put in any effort to woo someone. Also, if memory serves, you’ve never had a relationship that lasted more than six months.” “Thanks for the reminder, oh Sarah of Ye Old Wet Blanket,” I groused, but she was right. I hadn’t dated anyone for longer than six months; and even then it hadn’t really been a relationship with any meaningful or lasting impact. “Ye Old Wet Blanket was my grandmother’s name, I’ll have you know...You’re thirty years old, practically a baby. You’ve just burned yourself out. You need to find the excitement in life again, the thrill to be had from simple things.” “I do get a thrill from simple things,” I countered. “Didn’t I mention I fixed my tap this weekend? And I had Earl Grey tea with breakfast.” “Oh. Stop. Too much excitement. I can’t handle it.

Trash first. Then supplies. Stepping forward, I kicked a pile of takeout containers to one side, wanting to clear a path to the cabinets so I could look for latex gloves. But then I stopped, stiffening, an odd scratching sound coming from the pile I’d just nudged with my foot. Turning back to it, I crouched on the ground and lifted a greasy paper at the top of the mess. And that’s when I saw it. A cockroach. In Ireland. A giant behemoth of a bug, the likes I’d only ever seen on nature programs about prehistoric insects. Okay, perhaps I was overexaggerating its size. Perhaps not. Honestly, I didn’t get a chance to dwell on the matter, because the roach-shaped locust of Satan hopped onto my hand. I screamed. Obviously. Jumping back and swatting at my hand, I screamed again. But evil incarnate had somehow crawled up and into the sleeve of my shirt. The sensation of its tiny, hairy legs skittering along my arm had me screaming a third time and I whipped off my shirt, tossing it to the other side of the room as though it was on fire. “What the hell is going on?” I spun toward the door, finding Ronan Fitzpatrick and Bryan Leech hovering at the entrance, their eyes darting around the room as though they were searching for a perpetrator. Meanwhile, I was frantically brushing my hands over my arms and torso. I felt the echo of that spawn of the devil’s touch all over my body. “Cockroach!” I screeched. “Do you see it? Is it still on me?” I twisted back and forth, searching. Bryan and Ronan were joined in the doorway by more team members, but I barely saw them in my panic. God, I could still feel it. I. Could. Still. Feel. It. Now I knew what those hapless women felt like in horror movies when they realized the serial killer was still inside the house.

So,” I cleared my throat, unable to tolerate his moans of pleasure and praise any longer, “uh, what are your plans for the weekend?” “The weekend?” He sounded a bit dazed. “Yes. This weekend. What do you have planned? Planning on busting up any parties?” I asked lightly, not wanting him to know that I was unaccountably breathless. I moved to his other knee and discarded the towel. “Ha. No. Not unless those wankers down the hall give me a reason to.” Removing his arms from his face, Bryan’s voice was thick, gravelly as he responded, “I, uh, have some furniture to assemble.” “Really?” Surprised, I stilled and stared at the line of his jaw. The creases around his mouth—when he held perfectly still—made him look mature and distinguished. Actually, they made him even more classically handsome, if that was even possible. “Yes. Really. Two IKEA bookshelves.” I slid my hands lower, behind his ankle, waiting for him to continue. When he didn’t, I prompted, “That’s it?” “No.” He sighed, hesitated, then added, “I need to stop by the hardware store. The tap in my bathroom is leaking and one of the drawer handles in the kitchen is missing a screw. I just repainted the guest room, so I have to take the excess paint cans to the chemical disposal place; it’s only open on Saturdays before noon. And then I promised my mam I’d take her to dinner.” My mouth parted slightly because the oddest thing happened as he rattled off his list of chores. It turned me on. Even more so than running my palms over his luscious legs. That’s right. His list of adult tasks made my heart flutter. I rolled my lips between my teeth, not wanting to blurt that I also needed to go to the hardware store over the weekend. As a treat to myself, I was planning to organize Patrick’s closet and wanted to install shelves above the clothes rack. Truly, Sean’s penchant for buying my son designer suits and ties was completely out of hand. Without some reorganization, I would run out of space. That’s right. Organizing closets was something I loved to do. I couldn’t get enough of those home and garden shows, especially Tiny Houses, because I adored clever uses for small spaces. I was just freaky enough to admit my passion for storage and organization. But back to Bryan and his moans of pleasure, adult chores, and luscious legs. I would not think about Bryan Leech adulting. I would not think about him walking into the hardware store in his sensible shoes and plain gray T-shirt—that would of course pull tightly over his impressive pectoral muscles—and then peruse the aisles for . . . a screw. I. Would. Not. Ignoring the spark of kinship, I set to work on his knee, again counting to distract myself. It worked until he volunteered, “I’d like to install some shelves in my closet, but that’ll have to wait until next weekend. Honestly, I’ve been putting it off. I’d do just about anything to get someone to help me organize my closet.” He chuckled. I’d like to organize your closet. I fought a groan, biting my lip as I removed my hands, turned from his body, and rinsed them under the faucet. “We’re, uh, finished for today.