Crush Flirting Quotes

I always go for confident girls!

Because whipping an atlas at Jackson's head while he was flirt-touching that Frankie girl in geography would have been very satisfying. And beating him with the Eiffel Tower snowglobe while he kissed Cleo in French would have been tres cathartic. But she hadn't. Instead she'd been egg-like: a hard shell on the outside, and a runny mess on the inside.

How do I like to spend my day off? I like to hit up the juice bar, the bookstore, tan, and then flirt with the pharmacy tech at Walmart.

What bothers you more?' he asks, leaning forward. 'The fact that I'm a vampire or the fact that you have me here, sitting in your bedroom, after midnight? Because I actually think it's the second one.' He flashes a toothy smile. In any other time, under any other circumstances, I would almost think that he was... 'Are you flirting with me?' I ask, stunned. 'Now?' I think I see a flicker of disappointment was across his features, but it could just be a shadow. 'Please,' he says coolly. 'I was just curious. And besides, I thought the whole vampire thing was supposed to be sexy. I just wanted to make sure you weren't going to start giggling and twirling your hair.

I would definitely want the one with the bed,' I say and then realize how that sounds. I wonder if I will ever be able to flirt intentionally, as opposed to just accidently. 'Really?' he says, a little too innocently. I can do this— I can say something flirtatious and mean to. 'Or maybe not. You were always horrible at sharing your things,' I tease, but then realize that was just an insult said with an eyebrow wiggle. James leans in close enough that our arms touch and he smiles, slow and deliberate. 'I've gotten better.' I think all of my internal organs just evaporated. 'Why do you have a bed if you don't sleep?' I blurt. 'It looks new.' 'Yeah, that's not where I thought this conversation was going at all,' he says before settling back against the wall.

Maybe before you start flirting with boys and kissing boys and trying to date boys, you should know who you are and where you stand.

I was merely observing; I have no agenda." He looked at his hand, still touching hers. "Where did you get that ring?" She contracted her hand into a fist as she pulled it away from him. The amethyst in her ring glowed in the firelight. "It was a gift." "From whom?" "That's none of your concern." He shrugged, though she knew betterthan to tell him who'd really given it to her - rather, she knew Chaol wouldn't want Dorian to know. "I'd like to know who's been giving rings to my Champion." The way the collar of his black jacket lay across his neck made her unnable to sit still. She wanted to touch him, to trace the line between his tan skin and the golden lining of the fabric. "Billiards?" she asked, rising to her feet. I could use another lesson." Celaena didn't wait for his answer as she strode toward the gaming room. She very much wanted to stand close to him and have her skin warm under his breath. She liked that. Worse than that, she realized, she liked him.

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

Come into my world. I will show you the phenomenon that Stendhal experienced. I will help you feel the cascading arpeggios of Wagner's overture. I will dance to Doga’s waltzes with you. A day spent without appreciating the beauty surrounding us is a waste. Let me appreciate you

New Mexico is my favorite state,” I declared as we pulled onto I-40. “I'm waiting to see it all before I decide. And by the way, your driving isn't half bad. I expected to be terrified.” “Why?” “I imagined a timid, overly cautious little angel, but you've got an impressive lead foot.” Whoops. “Your car drives so quietly,” I said, "I don't realize how fast I'm going. I'll set the cruise control from now on.” “Don't worry. I'll keep an ear out for cops,” he told me. “Will we be passing the Grand Canyon?” I asked. “I've always wanted to see it.” Kaidan pulled out the map and studied it. “It's a bit out of the way, more than an hour. But how about this? We can go on the way back, since we won't have a time crunch.” I didn't know if it was the desert air or what, but I felt at ease. I still had a thousand questions for Kaidan, but I wasn't in the mood for another heavy conversation just yet. I liked talking to him. We were still guarded, and it wasn't nearly as carefree as talking with Jay, but I was beginning to imagine keeping Kaidan in my life as a friend after this trip. Time would help us forget the kiss. My crush on him would fade. If I could stop analyzing every touch and every look, then maybe it could work. I vowed to myself at that moment: No more jealousy. No more flirting. No more lustful longing for the elusive Kaidan Rowe.

The inaugural morning at Merston High was officially over. It was no longer a mysterious place in Melody's imagination, filled with endless possibilities and hooks on which to hang hopes for a better tomorrow. It was completely - boringly - normal. Like meeting an online crush after months of e-flirting, the reality didn't live up to the fantasy. It was dull, predictable, and way more attractive in the photos.

May I see your dance card?” “Don’t you believe me?” She presented it to him with a flourish. He ran his fingers down the list of names. “Hmm . . . Waterburn? Bastard. D’Andre. Definitely a worthless bastard. Lord Camber, a thoroughgoing bastard. Lord Michaelson? Bastard. Peter Cheswick? Bast—” She snatched it from him, laughing. “I wouldn’t dance a waltz with you, anyway, Lord Dryden.” “No?” “You might accidentally lock eyes with Lisbeth Redmond, stumble, and fling me across the room to avoid crushing my feet.

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

Greta smiled suddenly, and he had to blink. It was a little like watching a small and self-contained sunrise. 'Thank you,' she said. 'I'm...very glad you're here.' Just for a moment, Varney thought that *he* was, too. For a moment.

You’re the only one.” “You’re my only too.” “You mean only one?” I was drunk, but I knew exactly what I’d said. “No. My only. Solely. Exclusively. It’s an unquantifiable measure so you can’t devalue it by adding a number as if there will be others.

Brinley pulled me to the side while Ryder and Cade fetched drinks at the bar. “He’s so cute!” She clasped both my hands and practically squealed. And I’m not going to lie, part of me wanted to hop around squealing “I know” because he was the hottest guy I’d ever dated. Dated. Wow

I felt more comfortable when you were cursing like a sailor and calling me filthy names." "Are you conceding defeat?" She tried to keep the hopeful tone from her voice when he tucked his laptop into his leather briefcase. "Of course not." His dark eyes flashed with mirth. "I have a business meeting in half an hour which I had hoped to conduct here, but I'm too much of a gentleman to intrude on your privacy while you crush the hearts of ten sad and lonely men. I look forward to battling with you tomorrow, Miss Patel. May the best man win." After the door closed behind him, she sat back in her chair surrounded by his warmth and the intoxicating scent of his cologne. She knew his type. Hated it. Arrogant. Cocky. Egotistical. Ultra-competitive. Fully aware of how devastatingly handsome he was. A total player. She would have swiped left if his profile had popped up on desi Tinder. So why couldn't she stop smiling?

If you only knew about the stupid crush I had on you.” “Oh, I knew.” Her mouth dropped open. “No way. I was stealth.” “You mean when you used to hide in the loft and watch me work?” She grimaced. “Fine. So I liked when you used to chop wood. You’d get hot and take off your shirt.” She slid him a sly smile. “Teenage Alice thanks you.” “Good to know.” He cocked his head. “And grown up Alice?” She bit her lower lip while looking at his mouth. “She’s … undecided.” What an adorably sexy liar. “You’re flirting with me again.” “Am I?” He smiled. “You’re just playing with me right now. Let me know when you mean it.

It was just after eleven and I had a missed text from Cade. There was a picture of Scout sprawled across his bed with a message. The text had just come through. It was probably what had woken me. Cade: I think Scout misses you. Me: He looks pretty comfy. Probably happy to have his spot back. Cade: Okay, by “Scout” maybe I meant me. Me: You can cuddle with Scout. Cade: He keeps kicking me away. I laughed and started to type when another message came through. Cade: He prefers you. We have that in common. It hit me then how much I genuinely liked Cade. Me: My bed’s pretty lonely too. At least you have Scout.

All those years working down in London during the week. You must have had your opportunities.’ ‘Well I didn’t,’ said Lew convincingly, though it wasn’t strictly true. There had been an extremely bright and beautiful graduate who had an obvious crush on him and he’d found himself more than once wondering what it would be like to hold her. But he was married and he hadn’t even opened the door a sliver on that one. He’d made sure he was never alone with her, didn’t flirt with her and never gave her the slightest inkling that unfaithful thoughts had flitted across his brain. He was only human after all and he couldn’t do anything about involuntary reactions to her pheromones, but he could do something about not acting on what his perfidious brain was encouraging him to do.

Hey,” I said to her. “Let me get your opinion on something.” She stopped and listened. She was about four foot ten, with short, frizzy hair and a marshmallow body, but she had a nice smile; she would be good practice. I decided to use the Maury Povich opener. “My friend Grimble there just got a call today from the Maury Povich show,” I began. “And it seems they’re doing a segment on secret admirers. Evidently, someone has a little crush on him. Do you think he should go on the show or not?” “Sure,” she answered. “Why not?” “But what if his secret admirer is a man?” I asked. “Talk shows always need to put an unexpected twist on everything. Or what if it’s a relative?” It’s not lying; it’s flirting. She laughed. Perfect. “Would you do the show?” I asked. “Probably not,” she answered. Suddenly,

Because there’s a silent, shrugging, stoical acceptance of all the things in the world we can never be part of: shorts, swimming pools, strappy dresses, country walks, roller-skating, ra-ra skirts, vest tops, high heels, rope climbing, sitting on a high stool, walking past building sites, flirting, being kissed, feeling confident. And ever losing weight, ever. The idea of suggesting we don’t have to be fat –that things could change –is the most distant and alien prospect of all. We’re fat now and we’ll be fat forever and we must never, ever mention it, and that is the end of it. It’s like Harry Potter’s Sorting Hat. We were pulled from the hat marked ‘Fat’ and that is what we must now remain, until we die. Fat is our race. Our species. Our mode. As a result, there is very little of the outside world –and very little of the year –we can enjoy. Summer is sweaty under self-conscious layers. On stormy days, wind flattens skirts against thighs, and alarms both us and, we think, onlookers and passers-by. Winter is the only time we feel truly comfortable: covered head to toe in jumpers, coats, boots and hat. I develop a crush on Father Christmas. If I married him, not only would I be expected to stay fat, but I’d look thin standing next to him, in comparison. Perspective would be my friend. We all dream of moving to Norway, or Alaska, where we could wear massive padded coats all the time, and never reveal an inch of flesh. When it rains, we’re happiest of all. Then we can just stay in, away from everyone, in our pyjamas, and not worry about anything. The brains in jars can stay inside, nice and dry.

Years ago, Michelle had created the four-point Jasmine Scale to track Jasmine's progression--or descent, as Michelle called it--into love. The first point on the scale was Attraction. It was the curiosity phase, where Jasmine started to wonder about the guy and noticed all the cute and charming things about him, usually while ignoring glaring flaws and red flags. Next came the Crush. In the Crush phase, Jasmine amped up the flirting, getting physically closer and making it obvious that she was interested. The third phase, Infatuation, was where she started to lose her sense of self and all good judgement. She made herself too available and did too many favors for the guy in question. After that, there was only one more step left: Falling in Love, where she threw herself headfirst into the emotional abyss.

Luigi, the art teacher, holds up his brush, and we all do the same. I’m not quite sure why we’re mirroring his action, but Luigi is very compelling, more than capable of making four excited girls calm down and concentrate on what he’s telling us. I think it’s partly because he’s very serious. Either he doesn’t have a sense of humor, or it’s extremely well hidden. This, as I’m perfectly aware from years of a girls-only school, is a crucially important quality for male teachers. There aren’t that many of them in a girls’ school, and unless they look like the back of a bus, they inevitably become huge crush-objects. Little girls follow them around in packs, giggling madly, turning bright red and running away when the teacher turns to look at them; older girls wear the shortest skirts and tightest tops they can get away with, and do a lot of what Kelly calls hair-flirting. Male teachers are usually pretty good at coping with the flirting techniques: the best way to get under their skin, forge a special bond with them, is to share their sense of humor, make them laugh. The clever girls know this; the pretty ones usually don’t, because they tend to rely too much on their looks. Of course, the ones who are both clever and pretty do especially well, but that’s true for everything in life.

The store he’d chosen was Target. Which could be my second home, so I led him right to kids’ clothes. He stood on the edge of the little girls’ department with his mouth slightly agape. “This is a lot of clothes.” I laughed and looped my arm through his. “C’mon, it’s not that bad.” “How do you choose anything? It just goes on forever.” “What did your sister say? Be specific.” I released his arm and ran my fingers over a cute floral dress. “Size two. No exact matches. Summer clothes. Nothing slutty. Shorts. Dresses. No pants.” I turned and stared at him. “Wait, she said nothing slutty?” He chuckled. “I just threw that in to see if you were really paying attention. You kind of had that glazed-over storegasm look.” My lips parted. “Did you just say ‘storegasm’?” With a sheepish grin he looked down, then glanced back up. “My sister calls it that. I swear it’s not my word. Like when she walks into her favorite store or finds a sale, she says it’s better than…” He looked away. “I think I’m just going to shut up now.” “Huh.” I looked through the rack again. “I kind of like it. Storegasm.” Cade didn’t move as I repeated the word, testing it out for myself. “But don’t worry. I was listening. Trust me, you’d know if I was having a storegasm.” I glanced at him, then walked over to the next rack. When he didn’t follow, I looked over my shoulder at him. “You coming?” One eyebrow shot up. I bit back a smile and turned away. He cleared his throat and followed.

With my gaze on anything but Cade, I moved around the room but when Scout spotted me he trotted over. I knelt down and rubbed his ears. The silky fur between my fingers stirred memories. Scout’s tongue flicked under my chin. I leaned my head back and smiled. “He kissed you,” a little boy said. “That means he likes you.” “You think so?” I scrubbed my hands over Scout’s neck. “Yeah. Right, Cade? Dog kisses mean they like you.” I kept my eyes on Scout to avoid looking at Cade. “Yep, means he likes her.” He sat a few feet away and his words wrapped around me, his voice comforting. Scout lifted his paw and placed it on my knee. “What’s that mean, Cade?” The little boy pointed to my leg. “Hmm, maybe he doesn’t want her to leave.” I peeked over, and Cade met my gaze. “He likes her too much.” I looked away. “Maybe he loves her,” the little boy said in a singsong voice. Without missing a beat Cade said, “Maybe he does.” The little boy broke into a fit of belly laughs, and Cade scooted closer. He poked him playfully in the side. “Hey, what’s funny about that?” “He’s a dog. She’s a girl.” “That’s true,” Cade whispered. “But a pretty one, so can you really blame him?” The little boy giggled more. “That’s silly.” Scout nudged me with his wet nose and I cupped his face. “It’s okay, boy, the feeling is mutual.” Scout swiped his long tongue across my mouth. I grimaced and wiped my lips. “Not that mutual.” Cade lowered his voice and leaned slightly toward me. “And now he’s just rubbing it in.” The little boy laughed as he ran away, yelling something to his mom about the dog being in love with me.

Hey,” Sean said as he stretched. “I just took Scout out.” “Thanks,” Cade said. Sean glanced back and noticed me. “Hey, Fallon.” He smirked at Cade. “Well, guess I’ll be heading to my room now.” Scout raised his head and his tail slapped against the couch. “Three’s a crowd, and all that.” Sean ruffled the fur along Scout’s neck. “Unless, of course, you’re a dog.” He stood and stretched again. “Oh, to be a dog in a crate.” Cade rolled his eyes at Sean’s fly-on-a-wall reference. “ ’Night, Sean,” he grumbled. “See you two crazy kids later.” He strolled out of the room but paused and patted the kitchen wall. “Oh, and FYI, the shower in Cade’s room backs to the kitchen.” God, Sean was like a male version of me. Poor Brinley, always having to put up with my crap. She was a damn good sport. Cade just shook his head and muttered, “Jealous?” “Fuck yeah, I am,” Sean called back as he wandered down the hall. “I’m going to start calling you magic hands.” Though Sean was still fucking around, I sensed Cade losing his patience. “It’s not just his hands,” I said. Sean looked over his shoulder at me. “I mean, call him what you want, but don’t sell him short.” Sean just stared at me, surprised by either what I’d said or the fact I’d said anything at all. I smiled in the way that always drove guys crazy, totally fake but filled with flirtation. “Listen close tonight and maybe you can figure out what I like to call him.” He leaned his head against his door frame and groaned. “Just not even fair.” He picked his head up and glanced at me. “If you get bored, you know I live right down the hall.” I laughed, though Cade didn’t seem to find quite the humor in it I did. He slipped his hand in mine. “Not happening, bro.” Sean raised his hands. “Just throwing it out there.” “Thanks,” I said sweetly. “But my schedule is pretty full with Cade RSVPing to my fuckfest and all…” Cade chuckled. Sean gaped at me then, with a pointed look at Cade, said, “Marry her, dude. Seriously, if you don’t, I will.” He stepped into his room grumbling something about fuckfests. “My roommate is in love with you now. You’re like this hot female version of him. His dream girl.

His phone dinged again. “This crazy-ass voicemail. It’s all jacked—Wait, when did you call me?” “Please don’t listen to that,” I blurted. He grinned. “Okay, now I have to hear it. Was this last night? Were you drunk? Did you drunk-dial me?” he teased. But it was too late, he’d already lifted the phone. Bile rose in my throat and the room became a thousand degrees hotter. “Please. Don’t.” “Why? What’s wrong?” He grew quiet and listened. “I don’t hear anything. Wait. You didn’t mean to call, did you? Is that another guy?” I put my face in my hands. Cade was quiet as he listened. And I prayed for a giant black hole to open and swallow me. His phone made a soft thump as he tossed it onto the coffee table. The couch moved with him as he settled back. “You can uncover your face now.” His tone didn’t sound angry but I still couldn’t face him. His hands slid around my wrists and gently tugged, forcing me to lower them. I swallowed the lump in my throat, annoyed that I didn’t even have my own car to leave. “Was that your roommate?” he asked. I nodded, my face still tucked down. “And…her boyfriend?” “No, her best friend.” “So you told your roommate about me?” I could hear the smile in his voice and looked up. “I mean, I assume you don’t know a bunch of ‘therapy dog’ guys named Cade, but I could be wrong.” “You aren’t pissed about what you heard?” “All I heard were some friends teasing you…about me. They think you want me. Bad.” He grinned. “And what I said?” “Were you serious? Because to me you sounded annoyed, maybe even defensive. And considering you stayed home last night and are with me tonight, I don’t think you really planned a, how did you put it? ‘Weekend fuckfest.’ ” He bit back a smile. “You were never supposed to hear that.” I crossed my arms. “And I expected you to be upset, not tease me about it.” He grabbed my hand. “C’mon, I’m sorry. Did you want to have a weekend fuckfest? I don’t want to interfere with your plans.” He tugged my hand, urging me to look up. “Look, we can have one. I’m game. Don’t stop on account of me.” “Shut up.” His hand made its way to my arm and he slid me along the leather couch, and tucked me into him. “Quit being all grumpy. I’m RSVPing to your fuckfest. I mean, I’ve never had one, but it seems pretty self-explanatory.” “You’re an asshole.” And by that I really meant the most perfect fucking guy ever. Who hears something like that and plays it totally cool? “So, am I also supposed to bend you over a table or something? Because I think your roommate might have mentioned that as well.” I shoved him back while trying hard not to smile. “I hate you.” He laughed and scooped me into his lap. “If it makes you feel any better, my roommate knows I have the hots for you too.” I rolled my eyes

These Claudines, then…they want to know because they believe they already do know, the way one who loves fruit knows, when offered a mango from the moon, what to expect; and they expect the loyal tender teasing affection of the schoolgirl crush to continue: the close and confiding companionship, the pleasure of the undemanding caress, the cuddle which consummates only closeness; yet in addition they want motherly putting right, fatherly forgiveness and almost papal indulgence; they expect that the sights and sounds, the glorious affairs of the world which their husbands will now bring before them gleaming like bolts of silk, will belong to the same happy activities as catching toads, peeling back tree bark, or powdering the cheeks with dandelions and oranging the nose; that music will ravish the ear the way the trill of the blackbird does; that literature will hold the mind in sweet suspense the way fairy tales once did; that paintings will crowd the eye with the delights of a colorful garden, and the city streets will be filled with the same cool dew-moist country morning air they fed on as children. But they shall not receive what they expect; the tongue will be about other business; one will hear in masterpieces only pride and bitter contention; buildings will have grandeur but no flowerpots or chickens; and these Claudines will exchange the flushed cheek for the swollen vein, and instead of companionship, they will get sex and absurd games composed of pinch, leer, and giggle—that’s what will happen to “let’s pretend.” 'The great male will disappear into the jungle like the back of an elusive ape, and Claudine shall see little of his strength again, his intelligence or industry, his heroics on the Bourse like Horatio at the bridge (didn’t Colette see Henri de Jouvenel, editor and diplomat and duelist and hero of the war, away to work each day, and didn’t he often bring his mistress home with him, as Willy had when he was husband number one?); the great affairs of the world will turn into tawdry liaisons, important meetings into assignations, deals into vulgar dealings, and the en famille hero will be weary and whining and weak, reminding her of all those dumb boys she knew as a child, selfish, full of fat and vanity like patrons waiting to be served and humored, admired and not observed. 'Is the occasional orgasm sufficient compensation? Is it the prize of pure surrender, what’s gained from all that giving up? There’ll be silk stockings and velvet sofas maybe, the customary caviar, tasting at first of frog water but later of money and the secretions of sex, then divine champagne, the supreme soda, and rubber-tired rides through the Bois de Boulogne; perhaps there’ll be rich ugly friends, ritzy at homes, a few young men with whom one may flirt, a homosexual confidant with long fingers, soft skin, and a beautiful cravat, perfumes and powders of an unimaginable subtlety with which to dust and wet the body, many deep baths, bonbons filled with sweet liqueurs, a procession of mildly salacious and sentimental books by Paul de Kock and company—good heavens, what’s the problem?—new uses for the limbs, a tantalizing glimpse of the abyss, the latest sins, envy certainly, a little spite, jealousy like a vaginal itch, and perfect boredom. 'And the mirror, like justice, is your aid but never your friend.' -- From "Three Photos of Colette," The World Within the Word, reprinted from NYRB April 1977

Here's my top secret: When I have a crush, the world is way pretty, like all the colors are brighter. —Mason,

Felicity’s Macaroni and Cheese 4 cups (1 pound) elbow macaroni 5 tablespoons unsalted butter 4 cups milk 1/2 medium onion 4 cloves garlic 1 bay leaf 3 sprigs fresh thyme 1 teaspoon dry mustard 2 tablespoons flour 2 cups grated cheddar, plus 1 cup in big chunks 1 cup sharp white cheddar cheese 1/2 cup grated parmesan Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper Directions Cook the macaroni in a large pot of boiling salted water until done, about five to seven minutes. Drain and toss it with two tablespoons of butter; set aside. Heat the oven to 350 degrees. Coat a large baking dish with one tablespoon of butter, and set it aside. Mince the onion, and crush the garlic cloves. Pour the milk into a saucepan, and add the onion, garlic, bay leaf, thyme, and mustard. Warm over medium-low heat until the milk starts to steam, about ten minutes. Remove from the heat, and let the flavors infuse while you make the roux. In a large pot over medium heat, add two tablespoons butter and the flour. Cook, stirring, for about two to three minutes; don’t let the roux color. Remove the bay leaf from the infused milk and add to the roux, whisking constantly to avoid lumps. Cook, stirring often, for about five minutes until the sauce is thick. Remove from the heat and add one half of the grated cheddar, one half of the sharp white cheddar, and one half of the parmesan; stir until it is melted and smooth. Taste and adjust

I think we should try to find Rafe,” she said. I took a deep breath. “I know he didn’t make it.” “But you’ll feel better if we look. We might as well go in the direction the helicopter came from. Just in case.” She had a point. We had to walk. Why not walk that way? I shook my head. “If we’re going back for anyone, it should be Nicole. If there’s a chance she’s alive--” “There isn’t. Not from what I saw. And if she did survive, that means they want her alive, which means she’s safe enough for now. I think we should try to find Rafe.” I turned to her. “I know you liked him. Everyone’s focusing on me, but you lost him, too.” “No, I didn’t. He was yours.” “He didn’t belong to any--” “I only started flirting with him to make Corey jealous. Then I guess I did kind of fall for him. But the guy I was crushing on wasn’t Rafe Martinez. Not the real one, anyway. I get that now. He was showing me someone else. He was showing us all someone else. Everyone except you.” “That’s not--” “Corey told me what Rafe did on the helicopter. How he let go so he wouldn’t pull you and Daniel out. The Rafe I knew wouldn’t have done that. Wouldn’t even have thought of it.

I think we should try to find Rafe,” she said. I took a deep breath. “I know he didn’t make it.” “But you’ll feel better if we look. We might as well go in the direction the helicopter came from. Just in case.” She had a point. We had to walk. Why not walk that way? I shook my head. “If we’re going back for anyone, it should be Nicole. If there’s a chance she’s alive--” “There isn’t. Not from what I saw. And if she did survive, that means they want her alive, which means she’s safe enough for now. I think we should try to find Rafe.” I turned to her. “I know you liked him. Everyone’s focusing on me, but you lost him, too.” “No, I didn’t. He was yours.” “He didn’t belong to any--” “I only started flirting with him to make Corey jealous. Then I guess I did kind of fall for him. But the guy I was crushing on wasn’t Rafe Martinez. Not the real one, anyway. I get that now. He was showing me someone else. He was showing us all someone else. Everyone except you.” “That’s not--” “Corey told me what Rafe did on the helicopter. How he let go so he wouldn’t pull you and Daniel out. The Rafe I knew wouldn’t have done that. Wouldn’t even have thought of it.” “He didn’t mean to trick you,” I said. “He was looking for something in Salmon Creek. Something he really needed to find, to help his sister. He didn’t mean to hurt anyone.” He didn’t mean to hurt anyone. Not Hayley and the other girls he’d chased and cut loose. Not me, the one he’d finally caught, only to admit he’d pursued me for a reason. I understood that now. I wished I could have understood it then. I wished I could have said something in that last moment, before he let go. He’d told me it was okay. His last words to me. Why couldn’t they have been my last words to him?

I think we should try to find Rafe.” I turned to her. “I know you liked him. Everyone’s focusing on me, but you lost him, too.” “No, I didn’t. He was yours.” “He didn’t belong to any--” “I only started flirting with him to make Corey jealous. Then I guess I did kind of fall for him. But the guy I was crushing on wasn’t Rafe Martinez. Not the real one, anyway. I get that now. He was showing me someone else. He was showing us all someone else. Everyone except you.

Not for Fun, Why so Hilarious? [Part 1] If someone wants to shut your mouth, you have every right to show him your middle finger; If someone wants to rag you, you have every right to show him your rage; If someone wants to spy you, you have every right to hack him; If someone wants to fake you, you have every right to flirt with him; If someone wants to rank you, you have every right to prank him; If someone wants to question you, you have every right to irritate him with your answers; If someone wants to know your value, you have every right to reveal his worth; If someone wants to call you a psycho, you have every right to shock him with your treatment; If someone wants to test you, you have every right to prepare him for your exam; If someone wants to spoil you, you have every right to damage him; If someone wants to stop you, you have every right to hit him; If someone wants to flop you, you have every right to spoof him; If someone wants to touch you, you have every right to hunt him; If someone wants to bar you, you have every right to crush him; If someone wants you to beg, you have every right to toss him; If someone wants you to wait, you have every right to waste his time; If someone wants you to be silent, you have every right to test his patience; ‘Indian Shakespeare

Not for Fun, Why so Hilarious? [Part 2] If someone wants to shut your mouth, you have every right to show him your middle finger; If someone wants to rag you, you have every right to show him your rage; If someone wants to spy you, you have every right to hack him; If someone wants to fake you, you have every right to flirt with him; If someone wants to rank you, you have every right to prank him; If someone wants to question you, you have every right to irritate him with your answers; If someone wants to know your value, you have every right to reveal his worth; If someone wants to call you a psycho, you have every right to shock him with your treatment; If someone wants to test you, you have every right to prepare him for your exam; If someone wants to spoil you, you have every right to damage him; If someone wants to stop you, you have every right to hit him; If someone wants to flop you, you have every right to spoof him; If someone wants to touch you, you have every right to hunt him; If someone wants to bar you, you have every right to crush him; If someone wants you to beg, you have every right to toss him; If someone wants you to wait, you have every right to waste his time; If someone wants you to be silent, you have every right to test his patience; ‘Indian Shakespeare

So to clarify, I like you. More than like you. You’re my happy.

With Scout’s face between both my hands, I kissed the top of his head. “How are you, boy? I missed you.” Scout licked my chin then stared up at me with his brown eyes. He really was an adorable dog. Golden with eyes that sucked you in, just like his owner. “So he’s doing okay?” I asked. “Yep, once the cast comes off he’ll be back to himself.” Scout’s back leg was bandaged up in a dark blue cast. Written across it: Ask me about my third leg. I choked back a laugh. “Let me guess. You wrote that?” “Scout asked me to. Says it helps with the bitches.” He paused expectantly. “See what I did there?” “You’re hilarious.” I rolled my eyes.

How’s it going so far?” “Eh.” I examined my hair for split ends. “That good, huh?” “Well, let’s see. My sister just called my ex ‘babe,’ my mom may have suggested I got fat, and my dad might think I’m a lesbian.” Cade laughed. Like hard. “Okay. First off, you’re not fat. I should know. I’ve seen you naked.” My face warmed. “That you have.” “Very naked. In fact, picturing it right now.” He made a low satisfied sound. “Nope, definitely not fat.” I laughed. “Focus, Cade.” “Sorry, so, um, lesbian? What’s that about?” “Dad was teasing me, asking a bunch of questions about you. I told him if he mentioned anything to Mom, I’d tell her I was into girls—it would totally freak her out—then he gets all supportive of my lifestyle choices and says he’d love me no matter my orientation.” “So you told him about me?” I could tell he smiled by the sound of his voice. “Yeah. Though I’m not sure I’ve convinced him of your gender. On a good note, he approves of you, regardless.” Cade chuckled. “Good to know. Guess you said something right.

Well, good. I figured you were, but…” He turned down our street and glanced at me. “Wait, there’s another guy, isn’t there?” He grinned. “Ugh, Dad. I’m not talking boys with you.” “What’s his name?” I feigned a scowl. “Does he go to Sutton?” I rolled my eyes. “Where’d you meet?” A smile cracked. We pulled into the driveway. “What’s he do?” I sighed then rattled off his answers. “Cade. He’s a therapy dog handler who volunteers at the hospital where I did my internship, and he works at the university rec center.” Dad let out a low, long whistle. “I approve.” I rolled my eyes again. “If you tell Mom, I’ll deny everything and tell her I’ve started dating girls.” “Your life choices don’t change how I feel about you, though your mom may be slow to come around.” “I’m not a lesbian, Dad.” “I’d love you even if you were.” “Dad.” I covered my face with my hands. “This conversation is so over.” He chuckled. “C’mon, short stack. Later, you can show me a picture of this young man or special lady in your life, that’s your choice.” I groaned. “That was meant to deter this conversation.” With another laugh, he hopped out, grabbed my suitcase from the back and unlocked the front door.

You hungry? We can grab a burger or something before we get home. Mom’s on another health kick. She’s determined to cook kale into everything we eat.” “Kale?” “It’s spinach’s ugly stepsister.” I laughed. “I know what it is, but why kale?” “Oh, superfood? I don’t recall. I just know our dinners have been very green lately.” He unlocked the doors to his SUV. “Which means we really need a burger. We’re stopping.” He cleared his throat. “Don’t tell Mom.” And this was why I loved my dad.

You came back. Guess I didn’t totally wreck your day.” He smiled. As if that face could ruin anything. “You didn’t look like you wanted to kill me or anything when you walked in, so I’m hoping we’re all good?” Okay, so technically he was thinking about how he possibly screwed up my life, not so much me, but, whatever, I’d take it. “It’s all good. I was on time and considering the dress code here is apparently anything five times your normal size”—I gestured to my scrubs—“no one seemed to notice or care I had on your shirt.

He studied me then sighed. “Let’s go watch a shitty reality show that will make us feel better about our own lives.” “I’m in.” I headed to the living room and plopped onto the couch. “The more fucked up the better.

You can only listen to discussions about potty training and the terrible twos so many times before you want to take a nap, facedown in the kiddie pool.

Man, I could get used to this. You can just hang around complimenting me until my ego explodes, inevitably taking us both out

I’m not gonna lie.” I leaned against the wall of the cabin and unabashedly checked her out. “It really ended the night on a high note for me. With our impending divorce hanging over us, I appreciate you trying to put a spark back into things.” I’d caught her off guard, and for a second I thought she might laugh, but then she fell into character, flashed her sweetest smile and said, “You’re welcome. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a terrible headache.” And I couldn’t deny how happy I was to hear her play along. “Wow, that’s cold. I thought we were reconciling.” “Sorry, but I don’t reconcile on the first date.” “So this was a date, then?” I held my breath, unsure if I pushed it too far with the flirting, but then she grinned. “What do you think?” “I think one day we’re going to laugh about your heart panties and our first date.” She smiled and shook her head. “You’re never going to let that go, are you?” “Are you kidding? We’re going to be sharing this story with our grandkids.” “I don’t think our future grandchildren need to know anything about what’s going on under my dress.” I smirked because she’d totally set herself up for this one. “So…we will have grandkids?” “Oh my God. You’re too much. Go to bed, Mason.” She turned to head into her cabin and called over her shoulder, “And quit talking about my underwear.” “I’ll stop talking about them, but no guarantees I can stop thinking about them.” Which wasn’t a lie. I’d already committed the image to memory. She laughed again. “Good night.” I smiled as I watched her disappear inside. “ ’Night, Felicity.

only just emerged from a crush on Abe in her ethics class, Abe who was white, Abe who liked her well enough, who thought her smart and funny, even attractive, but who did not see her as female. She was curious about Abe, interested in Abe, but all the flirting she did was, to him, merely niceness: Abe would hook her up with his black friend, if he had a black friend. She was invisible to Abe.

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

Jason shook his head, but he couldn’t deny he was charmed. Then again, he had a crush the size of Mother Russia herself, so he wasn’t the most unbiased candidate to judge Sasha’s flirting skills.

I was so distraught. I couldn’t understand all the different ways I was feeling. I was so confused. I did have a crush on Adam. But I felt so guilty about it because that must make me a very shallow person when I was supposed to be in love with James. But was I in love with James? I was afraid to think about that one. It was too huge to contemplate. And then I felt angry with James. Why couldn’t I flirt with Adam and have a bit of fun? But then I felt guilty again because Adam was a person, a nice person, and he deserved better than to be treated by me as some sort of ego balm.

And it was quite some butt, Mack had to admit, particularly in those blue jeans. It might wind up crushing a man, but he'd sure as hell die happy.

"For crushing your foot, please let me buy your drink." "That's not necessary, I'm buying for me and my friends." She pointed to a nearby table where three women laughed. "All the more reason for me to insist. Then you and your friends can talk about what a gentleman I am." "How can I refuse? Four hot chocolates, please." "Put it on my tab, Mr. Yu." Mr. Yu smiled at him. "Sure, Jack." The Julemarked residents didn't keep track of such things, but Jack was happy to take the credit. "Your tab?" the woman asked. "You work here?" "In the bakery, with my brothers." Jack pointed to Kringle All the Way. "You should stop in when you're ready for something sweet." "Brothers in a bakery? That's a romance series waiting to happen. I wouldn't be able to keep those books on the shelf." "Do you work in a bookstore?" "Better. I'm a librarian."

It's as though I can stop being me for just a moment, and I feel what it feels like... to be a vole. Or a rose. Or---" She was going to say, "or you." She wouldn't presume to know what it felt like to be him. But she thought of him on the pier, gloriously nude, stretching his arms toward the sky... and it had been as though his own pleasure in the moment had become her own pleasure. As if every bit of his pleasure, his abandon, his beauty, had infused her drawing. "No," he said suddenly. Softly but firmly. As though he'd just had a revelation of his own. "No?" She was crushed. And here she'd really given it some thought. "No, I don't think you ever stop being you when you draw, Miss Makepeace... not even for a moment. I suspect you are entirely yourself when you draw.

Thanks to smart phones and the Internet, the way we meet someone new, fall in love, have fights and have sex has changed remarkably. We can be in bed in crushed pyjamas and a bag of Doritos in one hand, and with the other, swipe right on the next person we end up with. Flirting has taken the form of sending memes and lifted the burden of being witty and romantic. And seduction…well, seduction has been reduced to dirty text messages and reluctant nudes. It’s all high-speed and low effort.

A slender woman greeted me. “You must be Fallon Carr.” Clearly she’d figured out who I was by elimination. Everyone else had arrived, and was seated like good little interns. Shit. With a smile, I nodded. “Yes. Sorry I’m late.” She glanced at a clock. “Looks like you’re on time to me.” And for the love of all things holy, the clock on the wall was a few minutes slow. It was the first thing to go right for me since stepping into the hospital today.

This internship was my future, an opportunity to stay in Texas with a promise to never have to move back to Colorado. Problem was…the hospital elevator had other plans. Waiting at ground level, I pushed the up button and stared at the shiny metal doors waiting for them to glide open. Nothing. I glanced up at the glowing number four, begging for it to start its descent to one. But it didn’t budge. How long did it take for people to get on? I checked my phone. My earliness could quickly creep to tardiness if the elevator didn’t hurry. Or made multiple stops. Or I got lost. Shit.

I told her one of the few stories that she'd told me of myself as a child. We'd gone to a park by a lake. I was no older than two. Me, my father, and my mother. There was an enormous tree with branches so long and droopy that my father moved the picnic table from underneath it. He was always afraid of me getting crushed. My mother believed that kids had stronger bones than grownups. "There's more calcium in her forearm than in an entire dairy farm," she liked to say. That day, my mother had made roasted tomato and goat cheese sandwiches with salmon she'd smoked herself, and I ate, she said, double my weight of it. She was complimenting me when she said that. I always wondered if eating so much was my best way of complimenting her. The story went that all through lunch I kept pointing at a gaping hole in the tree, reaching for it, waving at it. My parents thought it was just that: a hole, one that had been filled with fall leaves, stiff and brown, by some kind of ferrety animal. But I wasn't satisfied with that explanation. I wouldn't give up. "What?" my father kept asking me. "What do you see?" I ate my sandwiches, drank my sparkling hibiscus drink, and refused to take my eyes off the hole. "It was as if you were flirting with it," my mother said, "the way you smiled and all." Finally, I squealed, "Butter fire!" Some honey upside-down cake went flying from my mouth. "Butter fire?" they asked me. "Butter fire?" "Butter fire!" I yelled, pointing, reaching, waving. They couldn't understand. There was nothing interesting about the leaves in the tree. They wondered if I'd seen a squirrel. "Chipmunk?" they asked. "Owl?" I shook my head fiercely. No. No. No. "Butter fire!" I screamed so loudly that I sent hundreds of the tightly packed monarchs that my parents had mistaken for leaves exploding in the air in an eruption of lava-colored flames. They went soaring wildly, first in a vibrating clump and then as tiny careening postage stamps, floating through the sky. They were proud of me that day, my parents. My father for my recognition of an animal so delicate and precious, and my mother because I'd used a food word, regardless of what I'd actually meant.

We’ve got art class coming up, Violet.” “Really?” I glance up at the sun, still high in the sky; art class doesn’t start till five-thirty, and it can’t even be near five yet. “I’m going in to change,” Kendra says, pulling her sarong around her, tying it at her slender waist. Slipping her feet into her flip-flops, she pads back to the house, watched by the three of us girls; none of us say a word until she’s well out of earshot. Then Paige turns back to me and Kelly and says: “Riiiiight. Because it takes nearly an hour to get ready for art class.” “It does if you have a crush the size of Big Ben on the art teacher,” Kelly zings back. “She isn’t even any good at art!” Paige giggles. “I mean, not like Violet!” “Violet’s brilliant,” Kelly says, very pleased to have found an opportunity to both praise me, her friend and ally, and get in a dig at Kendra, her rival for Brainiest Girl in Villa Barbiano. “Her paintings are gorgeous.” “Oh yeah?” Evan says to me. He’s very good at tuning out girl talk and focusing only on the important information--a skill doubtless acquired from a lifetime of living with Paige. “What do you paint?” “Still lifes, at the moment,” I say, feeling self-conscious. “But I’d really like to do portraits. We need a life model, though, and Kelly won’t do it and Paige can’t stay still for long enough.” “I fidget,” Paige says cheerfully.

There’s something unnerving about developing a crush as an adult. It’s more fraught than the dime-a-dozen crushes of teenagers or the easy flirting of college.

Be true to yourself, to your best self.