Concern Boyfriend Quotes

Why would he appear to be so freaking concerned about me to my fake boyfriend anyway? she thought. He needs to mind his own business and keep out of mine. Shallow, arrogant bastard!

All I'm saying is, where relationships are concerned, don't confuse length with strength.

Damen is gorgeous. I know this without looking up. I just focus on my book as he makes his way toward me since I know way too much about my classmates already. So as far as I'm concerned, an extra moment of ignorance really is bliss. But according to the innermost thoughts of Stacia Miller sitting just two rows before me - Damen Auguste is totally smoking hot. Her best friend, Honor, completely agrees. So does Honor's boyfriend, Craig, but that's a whole other story

In modern times couples are more concerned about loyalty than love.

If I was you,” I whispered in her ear, “I’d be less worried about whether or not a girl beat up my boyfriend and more concerned about why my boyfriend wasn’t with me instead.

Does God know the number of kisses before we fall in love? Yesterday, I was nobody and I believed myself important. Today, I feel my worth in you. You, with your emerald eyes and ebony hair, even your heartbeat is beautiful. You, who is my greatest joy, all other concerns vanish in your presence. You swallow time and consume space, inspiring all my passion with a single embrace. I love your existence.

You said it was just lust and that you could control it. When he got upset, you didn’t behave like a man in lust, Zach. You behaved like a concerned boyfriend.

Are you all right?" A crease appears between his eyebrows, and he touches my cheek gently.I bat his hand away. "Well," I say, "first I got reamed out in front of everyone,and then I had to chat with the woman who's trying to destroy my old faction,and then Eric almost tossed my friends out of Dauntless,so yeah,it's shaping up to be a pretty great day,Four." He shakes his head and looks at the dilapidated building to his right, which is made of brick and barely resembles the sleek glass spire behind me. It must be ancient.No one builds with brick anymore. "Why do you care,anyway?" I say. "You can be either cruel instructor or concerned boyfriend." I tense up at the word "boyfriend." I didn't mean to use it so flippantly,but it's too late now. "You can't play both parts at the same time." "I am not cruel." He scowls at me. "I was protecting you this morning. How do you think Peter and his idiot friends would have reacted if they discovered that you and I were..." He sighs. "You would never win. They would always call your ranking a result of my favoritism rather than your skill." I open my mouth to object,but I can't. A few smart remarks come to mind, but I dismiss them. He's right. My cheeks warm, and I cool them with my hands. "You didn't have to insult me to prove something to them," I say finally. "And you didn't have to run off to your brother just because I hurt you," he says. He rubs at the back of his neck. "Besides-it worked,didn't it?" "At my expense." "I didn't think it would affect you this way." Then he looks down and shrugs. "Sometimes I forget that I can hurt you.That you are capable of being hurt." I slide my hands into my pockets and rock back on my heels.A strange feeling goes through me-a sweet,aching weakness. He did what he did because he believed in my strength. At home it was Caleb who was strong,because he could forget himself,because all the characteristics my parents valued came naturally to him. No one has ever been so convinced of my strength. I stand on my tiptoes, lift my head, and kiss him.Only our lips touch. "You're brilliant,you know that?" I shake my head. "You always know exactly what to do." "Only because I've been thinking about this for a long time," he says, kissing my briefly. "How I would handle it, if you and I..." He pulls back and smiles. "Did I hear you call me your boyfriend,Tris?" "Not exactly." I shrug. "Why? Do you want me to?" He slips his hands over my neck and presses his thumbs under my chin, tilting my head back so his forehead meets mine. For a moment he stands there, his eyes closed, breathing my air. I feel the pulse in his fingertips. I feel the quickness of his breath. He seems nervous. "Yes," he finally says. Then his smile fades. "You think we convinced him you're just a silly girl?" "I hope so," I say.

If she had been born in another place, during another time, he supposed she might have been the sort of girl who concerned herself with boyfriends and parties and fashionable clothes. If she had lived in a Boston arcology or a Beijing super tower, perhaps. Instead, she carried scars, and her hand was a stump, and her eyes were hard like obsidian, and her smile was hesitant, as if anticipating the suffering that she knew awaited her, just around the corner.

I write because the security of your love allows me to develop my craft without concerning myself with trivialities — as if your love could be any more complete. But I write, in the first place, because of you, my muse. I write for your green eyes to glance at my humble words and for the pleasure of hearing you utter them.

As far as boyfriends were concerned, I dated, had a lot of meaningless relationships and that was pretty much it. It was really hard to find a decent guy. A guy that would be worthwhile. They were all great in the beginning, sweet and caring, sensitive and romantic. But if you scratched deeper, you would find NOTHING. Plenty of nothing. Sometimes one might even be surprised just how much nothing there was, but not me. No. Somehow, I had learned to brace myself for the worst. But, to be honest, it wasn’t always the case. Some of the guys weren’t that empty beneath the surface, some even proved to be quite the opposite. True-Prince-charming kind of guys... And their girlfriends! They were even more charming princesses when they found out. Well, I guess we all have our little flaws... So, after some time, I was finally coming to terms with the genuine truth that there was no such thing as a perfect boyfriend. On the other hand, Melina was waiting for her prince on a white horse, and was honestly expecting him to show up single. No matter how many times I’d tried to convince her that all a girl gets from that prince-on-a-white-horse fairytale is actually and inevitably a horse and no prince, she never believed that.

Why do you care, anyway?" I say. "You can be either cruel instructor or concerned boyfriend." I tense up at the word "boyfriend." I didn’t mean to use it so flippantly, but it’s too late now. "You can’t play both parts at the same time." "I am not cruel." He scowls at me "I was protecting you this morning. How do you think Peter and his idiot friends would have reacted if they discovered that you and I were..." He sighs. "You would never win. They would always call you ranking a result of my favoritism rather than your skill." I open my mouth to object, but I can't. A few smart remarks come to mind, but I dismiss them. He's right. My cheeks warm, and I cool them with my hands. "You didn't have to insult me to prove something to them," I say finally. "And you didn't have to run off to your brother just because I hurt you," he says. He rubs at the back of his neck. "Besides- it worked, didn't it?" "At my expense." "I didn't think it would affect you this way." Then he looks down and shrugs. "Sometimes I forget that I can hurt you. That you are capable of being hurt." I slide my hands into my pockets and rock back on my heels. A strange feeling goes through me- a sweet, aching weakness. He did what he did because he believed in my strength. At home it was Caleb who was strong, because he could forget himself, because all the characteristics my parents valued came naturally to him. No one has ever been so convinced of my strength. I stand on my tiptoes, lift my head, and kiss him. Only our lips touch. "You're brilliant. You know that?" I shake my head. "You always know exactly what to do." "Only because I've been thinking about his for a long time," he says, kissing me briefly. "How I would handle it, if you and I..." He pulls back and smiles. "Did I hear you call me your boyfriend, Tris?" "Not exactly." I shrug. "Why? Do you want me to?" He slips his hands over my neck and presses his thumbs under my chin, tilting my head back so his forehead meets mine. For a moment he stands there, his eyes closed, breathing my air. I feel the pulse in his fingertips. I feel the quickness of his breath. He seems nervous. "Yes," he finally says.

Any other issues?” “Minor concerns about how you’ll fake being a devoted boyfriend when you’ve never been one in real life.” “I imagine the same way you’ll fake being a girlfriend who isn’t completely vanilla and devoid of passion.” I glared. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Mason grinned. “Apparently that you can dish it but not take it.

He looks mildly concerned, which is mildly concerning in itself. Anyone who isn’t fully concerned must have something wrong with them.

Uh," said Alec. "Can you fly a hot-air balloon?" "Of course! Magnus declared. "Did I ever tell you about the time I stole a hot-air balloon to rescue the queen of France?" Alec grinned as if Magnus was making a joke. Magnus smiled back. Marie Antoinette had actually been quite a handful. "It's just," Alec said thoughtfully, "I've never even seen you drive a car." He stood to admire the balloon, which was glamoured to be invisible. As far as the mundanes around them were concerned, Alec solemnly gazed at the open air. "I can drive. I can also fly, and pilot, and otherwise direct any vehicle you like. I'm hardly going to crash the balloon into a chimney," Magnus protested. "Uh-huh," said Alec, frowning. "You seem lost in thought," Magnus remarked. "Are you considering how glamorous and romantic your boyfriend is?" "I'm considering," said Alec, "how to protect you if we crash the balloon into a chimney.

The married man has clear biblical texts concerning physicality. . .The brother and sister in Christ have clear commands as well. . . What about the boyfriend and girlfriend? There are no verses for that category because God does not acknowledge that as a category. So if you are dating, your operative verses are 1 Timothy 5. Then the question becomes, "How far is too far with your mom? Where is the line with your sister?

I think," Paul said delicately, "she might be a little… concerned about your current choice of boyfriends." Which one? Chloe almost asked. "Alyec? What the fuck, man? I wasn't pissed or rude to her face about Ottavio or that loser Steve who brought fucking ecstasy into my mom's house and tried to sell it at my Halloween party." Paul nodded again, getting quieter as she got louder. He did not disagree. "Alyec is completely hot, doesn't take himself seriously, and doesn't deal drugs. Look, whatever," Chloe said, calming down. She could feel her fingertips beginning to itch again. "I think she's acting like a real bitch about everything, and frankly, I don't have time to deal with her shit right now. If she's not going to be around to lend an ear, at least she can keep her distance and shut the fuck up.

The person with whom I am in a primary relationship calls my phone my “boyfriend.” He becomes elated when the battery dies. One time he threatened to throw it out the window. He is way more concerned with the way I use the Internet to shut him out than anything I could do sexually with another person.

The person with whom I am in a primary relationship calls my phone my “boyfriend.” He becomes elated when the battery dies. One time he threatened to throw it out the window. He is way more concerned with the way I use the Internet to shut him out than anything I could do sexually with another person. I tell him that I am not shutting him out. I am shutting out reality. Unfortunately for him, he is real.

It shouldn't make any difference, but Friday and Saturday nights are the worst. They're the worst because the loneliness is magnified. The best you can do is hope that there is someone else like you out there, but if there is, you will never meet this person because she doesn't get out either. So, you're left with your thoughts, and your thoughts are living people in your brain who call and hang up and lounge around like armed security guards who happen to be beautiful. In between these thoughts, you think about what's going on out there. The girl of your dreams is being ravaged by a man who doesn't have a care in the world. Just to hear her voice would make you happy for a week, but he gets to spend the day and night with her and thinks nothing of it. (…), there are boyfriends and girlfriends, people in love, wide awake. They hang out. They hang out. They hang out. They do nothing worthwhile except each other. Friends, friends, friends. Fiends. Inside jokes. There are so many stupid conversations going on right now. You could be having a meaningful conversation with a taxi driver. You could talk to him about how Travis Bickle's taxi was a metaphor for loneliness. (…) You have a gray tint on your contact lenses. But you have your work. They don't have that. They are cowards. Everyone seems so afraid to be alone. It takes strength to lie there alone and take it. They just want to copulate, and that's their biggest concern of the night. You want a tragedy. An assassination. A massacre. An earthquake. A city falling to the ground. Something to get the people on TV to be on the same page as you.

Artists were allowed to do that - to look, to gaze at others and try to find out what it was that they were feeling - but we, who were not artists, were not. If one looked too hard that would be considered voyeurism, or nosienss, which is what Cat, her neice, had accused her of more than once. Jamie - the boyfriend rejected by Cat but kept on by Isabel as a friend - had done the same althought more tactfully. He had said that she needed to draw a line in the world with me written on one side and you on the other. Me would be her business; you would be the business of others, and an invitation would be required to cross the line. She had said to Jamie: "Not a good idea, Jamie. What if people on the other side of the line are in trouble?" That's different," he said. "You help them." By streching a hand across this line of yours?" Of course. Helping people is different." She had said: "But then we have to know what they need, don't we? We have to be aware of others. If we went about concerned with only our own little world, how would we know when there was trouble brewing on the other side of the line?

The Kiss Cam seemed to trigger the real start of our date…or maybe it just served as an ice breaker where kissing was concerned. Because after the entire stadium had seen us kiss, Jason wasn’t quite so shy about kissing me anymore. Not long, slow kisses, not the kind of kisses that you didn’t want broadcast on national TV, but kisses just the same. Whenever the pitcher struck out someone…kiss. When the Rangers got a hit…kiss. When they got a run…longer kiss. He held my hand, smiled at me, and just seemed really glad that I was there. I was glad I was there, too.

Why Smoky liked about his girls' growing up was that, though they moved away from him, they did so (it seemed to him) less from any distaste or boredom than simply to accommodate a growth in their own lives: when they were kids, their lives and concerns - Tacey's rabbits and music, Lily's bird's nests and boy-friends, Lucy's bewilderments - could all fit within the compass of his life, which was then replete; and then as they grew up and out, they no longer fit, they needed room, their concerns multiplied, lovers and then children had to be fitted in, he could no longer contain them unless he expanded too, and so he did, and so his own life got larger as theirs did, and he felt them to be no further from him than ever, and he liked that. What he didn't like about their growing up was the same thing: that it forced him to grow, to enlarge, sometimes beyond what he felt the character he had come over the years to be encased in could stand.

Are people really gonna buy it if we never touch each other in public?” Peter asks, looking skeptical. “I don’t think relationships are just about physicality. There are ways to show you care about someone, not just using your lips.” Peter’s smiling, and he looks like he’s about to crack a joke, so I swiftly add, “Or any other body part.” He groans. “You’ve gotta give me something here, Lara Jean. I have a reputation to uphold. None of my friends will believe I suddenly turned into a monk to date you. How about at least a hand in your back jean pocket? Trust me, it’ll be strictly professional.” I don’t say what I’m thinking, which is that he cares way too much what people think about him. I just nod and write down, Peter is allowed to put a hand in Lara Jean’s back jean pocket. “But no more kissing,” I say, keeping my head down so he can’t see me blush. “You’re the one who started it,” he reminds me. “And also, I don’t have any STDs, so you can get that out of your head.” “I don’t think you have any STDs.” I look back up at him. “The thing is…I’ve never had a boyfriend before. I’ve never been on a real date before, or held hands walking down the hallway. This is all new for me, so I’m sorry about the forehead thing this morning. I just…wish all of these firsts were happening for real and not with you.” Peter seems to be thinking this over. He says, “Huh. Okay. Let’s just save some stuff, then.” “Yeah?” “Sure. We’ll have some stuff for you to do when it’s the real thing and not for show.” I’m touched. Who knew Peter could be so thoughtful and generous? “Like, I won’t pay for stuff. I’ll save that for a guy who really likes you.” My smile fades. “I wasn’t expecting you to pay for anything!” Peter’s on a roll. “And I won’t walk you to class or buy you flowers.” “I get the picture.” It seems to me like Peter’s less concerned about me and more concerned about his wallet. He sure is cheap.

We’d been together for a year when he lost his job in Chicago and I started noticing a change in him. Gone was his ever present smile when we were together; more often than not he would be withdrawn and seemed as if he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. Then, he got a job offer from his Uncle in Dalton, Ohio. He needed a new mechanic and wanted to help Beau out. Beau begged me to go with him; said he loved me and couldn’t bear to live without me. My parents and my best friend, Kate, were dead against it. They had noticed the change in Beau. They’d never been happy with our relationship, so they weren’t shy at expressing their concerns about moving across a whole other state to live with my “bad boy” boyfriend, and were vehemently against me giving up nursing school to do so. In the end, Beau used the ace up his sleeve, something I didn’t see coming until it was too late. He blackmailed me into moving with him. We were lying in bed one night, having just made love, and I was stuck in the post-coital haze that had my mind thinking of fluffy bunnies and rainbows. He rolled over and brushed the hair out of my face. “I can’t leave you behind, so I’ve decided you’re coming with me, Mac. It’s you and me against the world. I can’t survive without you, baby.” And

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.

Maybe you need to save your dad-concerns for when I’m found drunk, or high—and—arrested because my secret Argentinean boyfriend, Ignacio, convinced me to smuggle condoms full of drugs and

So what’s your deal? Do you have a husband, boyfriend or something else?” His question made her eyes fly open and she shot him a peeved stare, “Why should that concern you in the least?” “Well, I was just wondering if that was the reason you were rushing home at this hour.” “My goodness, are you always this upfront with people you’ve just met?” “Then tell me, did my comment touch a nerve? Did you have an unwanted…” “OMGee, are you serious? Do you think that I would ever share something that personal with you?” She bit the side of her bottom lip hoping to refrain from cussing at him. “If you fell pregnant then would you want to raise the kid knowing that the father is not your husband? Or better yet being forced into a marriage just because there’s a kid involved?” “Firstly Hunter, women these days don’t need husbands to have kids because there are clinics for those kind of things. And secondly, I would never want to marry someone after a one night stand! That would leave me being an outright imbecile!” Was she seriously having this conversation with a stranger? He remained silent but she noticed his jaw twitch. Samara wondered what the reason was behind his odd questions about unwanted pregnancies. Did this happen to him or a loved one?

The men in her life were clean-cut, well-bred, reliable, unpretentious and good company. “Diana is an Uptown girl who has never gone in for downtown men,” observes Rory Scott. If they wore a uniform or had been cast aside by Sarah so much the better. She felt rather sorry for Sarah’s rejects and often tried, unsuccessfully, to be asked out by them. So she did washing for William van Straubenzee, one of Sarah’s old boyfriends, and ironed the shirts of Rory Scott, who had then starred in a television documentary about Trooping the Colour, and Diana regularly stayed for weekends at his parents’ farm near Petworth, West Sussex. She continued caring for his wardrobe during her royal romance, on one occasion delivering a pile of freshly laundered shirts to the back entrance of St. James’s Palace, where Rory was on duty, in order to avoid the press. James Boughey was another military man who took her out to restaurants and the theatre and Diana visited Simon Berry and Adam Russell at their rented house on the Blenheim estate when they were undergraduates at Oxford. There were lots of boyfriends but none became lovers. The sense of destiny which Diana had felt from an early age shaped, albeit unconsciously, her relationships with the opposite sex. She says: “I knew I had to keep myself tidy for what lay ahead.” As Carolyn observes: “I’m not a terrible spiritual person but I do believe that she was meant to do what she is doing and she certainly believes that. She was surrounded by this golden aura which stopped men going any further, whether they would have liked to or not, it never happened. She was protected somehow by a perfect light.” It is a quality noted by her old boyfriends. Rory Scott says roguishly: “She was very sexually attractive and the relationship was not a platonic one as far as I was concerned but it remained that way. She was always a little aloof, you always felt that there was a lot you would never know about her.” In the summer of 1979 another boyfriend, Adam Russell, completed his language degree at Oxford and decided to spend a year travelling. He left unspoken the fact that he hoped the friendship between himself and Diana could be renewed and developed upon his return. When he arrived home a year later it was too late. A friend told him: “You’ve only got one rival, the Prince of Wales.

While Amanda may be considered as the “official candidate” whose breeding and background made her eminently acceptable at Court, the Prince was also conducting a stormy relationship with Anna Wallace, the daughter of a Scottish landowner whom he had met while fox hunting in November 1979. She was the latest of a long line of girlfriends, drawn for the most part from the upper reaches of the aristocracy, who had appeared on his romantic horizon. However Anna, fiery, wilful and impulsive, was temperamentally unsuitable for the regulated routine of royalty. Not for nothing was she known as “Whiplash Wallace”. Prince Charles, a man who by his own admission fell in love easily, pressed his suit even though his advisors told him that she had other boy-friends. Their relationship became so serious that, according to at least one account, he asked her to marry him. She is said to have turned him down but that rebuff did little to dampen his ardour. In May they were discovered by journalists lying on a blanket by the river Dee on the Queen’s estate at Balmoral. The Prince was furious at this intrusion into his private life and authorized his friend, Lord Tryon, who was present at the picnic to shout a four letter word at the journalists concerned.

Then it occurred to me. Was this real? Maybe I was hallucinating. People have those, right? Like psychological breakdowns? Too many years obsessing over book boyfriends, that now I’m hallucinating the perfect man having the “run in at the coffee shop”. I pinched my wrist. Ouch. Yep, I was here. He was here. He seemed a mix of amused and concerned as he stared at me intensely. I must look like a nut case. Play it cool, Kenna. What the hell is wrong with you? “Ahem. Nice to meet you Mr. Dowe.” Yeah that was cool. Smooth. All that. “It’s very nice to meet you Kenna. Please, call me Jax.” His voiced oozed with alpha-male smooth confidence. I am so fucked.

So—no boyfriends,” he said. “That seems impossible. Surely men noticed you.” “All the time,” she said. “But I was too busy for men. And for the ones who didn’t understand the word no, I developed a very fast left hook.” He chuckled at her. “Passes,” he said. “That would be the polite term. I swear, men can be so fricking rude! Well, after Chip, I said I’d never be that stupid again. And, in my immature mind, I thought that being practical where Arnie was concerned made so much more sense than letting myself get emotionally stupid and make a big mistake. Shows you what I know.” “Three

Still, women’s concerns about safety are frequently the subject of critical comments from the men in their lives. One woman told me of constant ridicule and sarcasm from her boyfriend whenever she discussed fear or safety. He called her precautions silly and asked, “How can you live like that?” To which she replied, “How could I not?” I

Seriously. What’s with the face?” Jordan asked. “You’re scaring my cabernets with that scowl.” “I’m just working through some stuff,” he said vaguely. Jordan raised an eyebrow, studying him. “Prison stuff?” “More like post-prison stuff. Nothing we need to talk about.” The last thing he needed his super-perfect twin sister with her super-perfect FBI boyfriend knowing was that he was in another dispute, of sorts, with the U.S. Attorney’s Office. He was cranky enough about the situation without Jordan laying into him about it. He’d left prison several weeks ago and was supposed to be moving on with his life, yet the vestiges of the place still clung to him. Like bad BO. He picked up four of the wine bottles Jordan had unpacked. “Where do you want these?” She pointed. “In the empty bin over there, with the other cabernets.” She looked over when Kyle came back to the bar. “So what kind of post-prison stuff?” Now he was getting suspicious. “What’s with the twenty questions?” “Sue me for trying to open a dialogue here. Geez. I’ve just been a little worried about you, since I’ve heard that it can sometimes be difficult for ex-inmates to reenter normal life.” Kyle shot her a look as he grabbed more wine bottles. “Where, exactly, did you hear that? Siblings of Ex-Cons Anonymous?” Jordan glared. “Yes, we have weekly meetings at the YMCA,” she retorted. Then she waved her hand vaguely. “I don’t know, it’s just…something I saw on TV this past weekend.” Ah. Kyle suddenly had a sneaking suspicion about the cause of his sister’s concern. “Jordo…by any chance were you watching The Shawshank Redemption again?” “Pfft. No.” She saw his knowing expression and caved. “Fine. I was flipping through the channels and it was on TNT. You try turning that movie off.” She looked at him matter-of-factly. “It’s very compelling.

Clearly they had different concerns, but she understood that in her boyfriend’s mouth the word “loneliness” took on a more abstract, a grander meaning: going though life without drawing anyone’s interest; talking without being heard; suffering without stirring compassion; thus, living as she has in fact lived ever since then.

Jesus Christ.’ I stood up and started making a loop around the table, just because I couldn’t stay still any more. ‘Are you serious? Your big concern here is that I don’t have a boyfriend? Not everyone wants the same things, Mam. And guess what? It’s not the fucking Fifties.

While Meena had been battling for her life and, later, fighting against crippling social ostracizing, Smita had been sitting in cafés in Brooklyn with her friends, sipping her cappuccinos, all of them feeling aggrieved as they talked about acts of microaggression and instances of cultural appropriation, about being ghosted by a boyfriend or being overlooked for a promotion. How trivial those concerns now seemed. How foolish she had been to join that chorus of perceived slights and insults. How American she had become to not see America for what it had been for her family—a harbor, a shelter, a refuge.

Then out of the blue and catching me by complete surprise, Blake suddenly grabbed hold of my hand. He looked towards me as if to ensure that I was ok with his sudden gesture. I glanced around shyly, a bit uncomfortable about holding hands at school. But then I saw Millie’s discreet wink and all concern melted away. There is nothing wrong with holding hands is there?  After all, we are girlfriend and boyfriend!

Kristen and I never touched. Not since the piggyback ride almost two weeks ago. I wanted to touch her. Hell, I thought about it almost constantly. But her boundaries were well laid. She never sat too close. I never caught her looking at me. She never gave me even the smallest indication she was interested. And why would she? She had Tyler. The second day I’d stayed the night, he’d called, and I heard her tell him the entire situation about the prowler and me staying in the guest room. She was honest with him. He didn’t seem to get upset. He trusted her. He had every right to, at least as far as I was concerned. I clearly wasn’t a threat. How had I gotten myself into this? Falling for an unavailable woman. And that’s exactly what I’d done in the last two weeks. I’d fallen. I’d fucked up. I was going to pay for this when her boyfriend came back and it all ended. I should have been more careful, spent less time with her, said no sometimes when she wanted to hang out. I should have gone on dates, looked at other options. But I couldn’t do it. Even as I felt myself tumbling down this rabbit hole, I couldn’t stop myself. I didn’t even fucking want to.

I have no idea how anybody can be clever enough to fly a plane from one country to another, and I’m glad it doesn’t have to be a concern of mine.

Jules, are you okay?” “I’m fine.” Sera wrapped her fingers around my bicep. “Are you sure? You don’t—” “I’m fine, Sera. Leave it.” The bones in my knee rubbed together the faster I walked down the sidewalk, sucking away what little air I had left in my lungs. I needed to be in my room, silent and dark. If I could just get there, clear this panic out of my system, I’d be good. “Julien, I’m worried. You can talk to me. Tell me what’s going on and I—” When I snapped, I wasn’t in the driver’s seat anymore. Fuck, I loved Sera’s voice, but in this moment, when I wasn’t sure I wanted to take another step, let alone wake up in the morning, I couldn’t take it. Her concern for me was like an ice pick in my ear. “Holy shit, can you not hear me? I said I’m fine. That means you need to stop asking. Preferably—stop speaking altogether. I’m not your fucking boyfriend or your sad little project. You keep pecking and pecking at me, and I’m going out of my mind. Leave me the hell alone. Just… God, can’t you see I don’t want you around me? Can’t you see that?” She shoved away from me. And when our connection was shattered, she shoved me again. I fell back a step, then another, barely catching myself from falling on my ass. “What is wrong with you?” she cried. “Why would you—?

Have a good night.” It certainly couldn’t get much worse. All I wanted to do was go home and go to sleep. I drove across town without incident. No dogs or deer jumped into my path. I parked my car and made it into the house without any fuss. All I wanted to do was collapse on my bed. My father blocking my path as I tried to walk past the dining room was my first clue the shit-storm my life had become was not over. “Where have you been?” he asked. “How could you leave Lucinda standing there like that? It was rude and irresponsible.” “Do we have to do this now?” I didn’t have it in me to play nice and act respectful. “Can’t you wait and yell at me tomorrow morning?” “No, this can’t wait. Explain yourself.” “Fine, but I’m not going to stand in the hallway while I do it.” I pushed past him and headed for the kitchen where I grabbed a glass of water. After downing half of it, I sat at the island. He could join me if he wanted to. “I wasn’t rude to Lucinda. You were rude to Haley. You knew I was there with her, but you tried to set me up with one of your friend’s daughters, instead. Why did you do that?” “Lucinda is a much better fit for you. You have far more in common. Now, you are going to call her and apologize and then we’ll all have brunch at the country club tomorrow.” “No. I’m sure Lucinda is nice, but she isn’t who I want to date. I’m sorry if that doesn’t fit into your social plan. No matter who I date, you will never be at the top of the food chain at the country club. Nathan’s family has more money than half the other members combined. Deal with it and stop trying to use me to work your way up the ladder.” “And why do you think you’re friends with Nathan?” What a stupid question. “Because I like him.” “No. Since you were an infant I networked with his father, making sure you were involved in all the same activities so that when you grew up you’d be friends.” Unbelievable. “Since I was born, you’ve used me to network with his family?” “Yes. And it’s worked, which is why you need to listen to me and do as I say. Date Lucinda. Act like the perfect gentleman when you’re with her. I don’t care if you want to see this Haley in your spare time, but everyone needs to think you and Lucinda are the perfect couple.” “You mean the way everyone thinks you have a perfect marriage, even though you’re screwing your secretary?” His eyes narrowed. A small part of me hoped he’d deny it, that there was some other explanation. “What happens between your mother and I is not your concern. You will date Lucinda and you will do so with a smile on your face.” “No. I won’t.” I set my glass down and headed up to bed. Sleep wouldn’t come. I tossed and turned. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Haley, asking me to make a choice. And every time, I screwed it up.

Now, I know I’m not exactly boyfriend material—’ I began. ‘There’s no not exactly about it!’ interrupted Finefellow. ‘You’re only eleven—’ ‘Thirteen,’ I said, correcting her. Finefellow shook her head. ‘You’re still at school—’ ‘Not today, I’m not,’ I said smugly. ‘And you’ve got an incredibly unpleasant face,’ she added. ‘It’s like a wasp that’s been squashed against a car window. All scrunched up. Quite hideous really.’ Ever the gentleman, I laughed at Finefellow’s poor attempt at humour, before she followed it up with some genuine concern. ‘You’re not normally so ugly, are you?’ she said. ‘What happened? Did somebody hit you in the face with a door?’ ‘How did you know?’ I said, stunned. ‘Were you there?’ ‘I wish,’ grinned Finefellow.

Not concerned with you running off with the competition.” I push up a smile as I glance around. Most of the people are middle-aged or older.

I'm Straight" I called this number three times already today But I, I got scared, I put it Back in place, I put my phone back in place I still don't know if I Should have called up Look, just tell me why don't ya if I'm out of place 'Cause here's your chance to make me feel awkward And wish that I Had never even called up this place I saw you though, today, walk by with hippie Johnny I had to call up and say how I want to take his place So this phone call today concerns hippie Johnny He's always stoned, he's never straight I saw you today, you know, walk by with hippie Johnny Look, I had to call up and say, I want to take his place See he's stoned, hippie Johnny Now get this, I'm straight and I want to take his place Now look, I like him too, I like hippie Johnny But I'm straight And I want to take his I said, I'm straight I said, I'm straight I'm proud to say Well I'm straight and I want to take his place Now I've watched you walk around here I've watched you meet These boyfriends, I know, and you tell me how they're deep Look but, if these guys, if they're really so great Tell me, why can't they at least take this place And take it straight, why always stoned Like hippie Johnny is? I'm straight and I want to take his place Oh I'm certainly not stoned, like hippie Johnny is I'm straight and I want to take his place I said, I'm straight I said, I'm straight I'm I'm straight and I want All right you Modern Lovers what do you say? (I'm straight!) Tell the world now (I'm straight!) I said (I'm straight!) Yeah, I'm straight and I want to take his place

She turned to her boyfriend. He still looked so tired, and concern for him flooded her. She wanted him out of this. He hadn’t fully recovered his strength yet. “I’m going with Trey. I want you to stay with the Roes.” “Oh, so it’s okay for me to die?” Trey cracked. “I'm touched. Really.” Young, Samantha (2012-06-19). Borrowed Ember (Fire Spirits Book 3) (Kindle Locations 5819-5824). . Kindle Edition.

Before we seal our plans with a kiss, Alex clears his throat in front of us. “No PDA. School rules. Besides, she’s my partner, dickhead. Not yours.” “Shut up, Fuentes,” Colin mutters, then joins Darlene. I put my hand on my hip and glare at Alex. “Since when are you so concerned with school rules?” “Since you became my chem partner. Outside chemistry, you’re his. In chemistry, you’re mine.” “Want to find your club and pull me by my hair into the library?” “I’m not a Neanderthal. Your boyfriend is the ape, not me.” “Then stop acting like one.” All of the work tables in the library are taken, so we’re forced to find a corner in the back of the library in the secluded nonfiction section and sit on the carpet. I set my books down and realize Alex is starting at me, almost as if he stares long enough he might be able to see the real me. No chance of that because I hide my true self from everyone. I stare back, because two can play this game. On the surface he’s impermeable, except a scar above his left brow tells the truth…he’s human. His shirt outlines muscles you can get only from manual labor or working out regularly. When my eyes meet his gaze as we’re sitting here staring at each other, time stops. Those eyes are piercing mine, and I can swear at this moment he senses the real me. The one without the attitude, without the façade. Just Brittany.

While the secret identity was a precious commodity for most male heroes, some were confident enough to share theirs with a special someone. Heroes like Dr. Fate, The Flash, and Sandman revealed their heroic identities to their girlfriends, who then became their assistants, or “helpmates.” Hawkman and his girlfriend Shiera were the reincarnations of an ancient Egyptian prince and princess. Shiera’s eagerness to help her winged boyfriend often got her into trouble. “I hope this will teach you to stay out of affairs that aren’t your concern,” Hawkman snaps after he has rescued his sweetheart from yet another scrape. But by 1941, Hawkman needs help, and Shiera is a prime candidate. Hawkman’s costume consisted of tights, mask, and wings that were attached to his bare chest by crisscrossing straps. After quickly making some modifications that would not violate any obscenity laws, Hawkman presents Shiera with a feminized version of his costume, now complete with discreet bikini top. “. . . you mean I’m going to pose as you . . . oboy! This is going to be fun . . .” gushes Shiera, as she slips on the green and red costume. Thus was Hawkgirl born, joining another club for 1940s heroines: the Partners.

He fell and hit his head! My boyfriend fell and hit his head!" she announces frantically, face pleated with concern. My brows perk up. Five minutes ago we couldn't stand each other. Two minutes ago, we nearly fucked on the sidewalk. Now apparently, we're going steady. This is already the most complicated relationship I've ever had.

waiting for my boyfriend Beau to get home from work. He works as a mechanic at the local garage down the street and usually finishes around 6 p.m. I know he’ll be home soon, even if it is only to check that I’m here waiting for him. He’s always had a slight possessive streak; it used to make me feel wanted and needed, but it seems to have kicked up a notch in the past six months. Beau and I met in high school in our senior year. He was a late transfer student who started with only a few months left before graduation. He pursued me fervently, and despite my parents being concerned about their somewhat sheltered daughter going out with the neighborhood’s new resident bad boy, we fell in love,

you can be either a cruel instructor or a concerned boyfriend

She’s never been in therapy before but knows she needs help. Nobody, she says, looking me in the eye—not her friends, not her boyfriend, not her family—knows how depressed she is. Nobody but me. Me. The trainee who has never done therapy before. (If you ever want proof that what people present online is a prettier version of their lives, become a therapist and Google your patients. Later, when I Googled Michelle out of concern—I learned quickly never to do this again, to always let patients be the sole narrators of their stories—pages of hits popped up. I saw images of her receiving a prestigious award, smiling at an event standing next to a handsome guy, looking cool and confident and at peace with the world in a magazine photo spread. Online, she bore no resemblance to the person who sat across from me in that room.)

She may have a boyfriend that she loves, but she likes to believe that as long as he doesn't know, it won't hurt him. And as far as she's concerned, for her, it doesn't mean anything at all; it's just a thing…