Friends Massage Quotes

His tunic was unbuttoned at the top, and he ran a hand through his blue-black hair before he wordlessly slumped against the wall across from me and slid to the floor. "What do you want?" I demanded. "A moment of peace and quiet," he snapped, rubbing his temples. I paused. "From what?" He massaged his pale skin, making the corners of his eyes go up and down, out and in. He sighed. "From this mess." I sat up farther on my pallet of the hay. I'd never seen him so candid. "That damned bitch is running me ragged," he went on, and dropped his hands from his temples to lean his head against the wall. "You hate me. Imagine how you'd feel if I made you serve in my bedroom. I'm High Lord of the Night Court - not her harlot." So the slurs were true. And I could imagine very easily how much I would hate him - what it would do to me - to be enslaved to someone like that. "Why are you telling me this?" The swagger and nastiness were gone. "Because I'm tired and lonely, and you're the only person I can talk to without putting myself at risk." He let out a low laugh. "How absurd: a High Lord of Prythian and a - " "You can leave if you're just going to insult me." "But I'm so good at it". He flashed one of his grins. I glared at him, but he sighted. "One wrong move tomorrow, Freyre, and we're all doomed.

Kiss me hot,heavy,wet & angry with that attitude like you do when your mouth yells it hates me but your tongue screams it can’t wait for me. Hug me, touch me, submit to me with that insatiable passion like you do when you thought you could leave but the sight of my throbbing rock hard love muscle made you too weak in the knees. Your mind is melting fast, your soul is whispering trust, your eyes are begging please and your anger has turned to lust. Let me undress your body, caress your skin and wetly massage your mind back into making love to me again. I’d rather say I’m sorry and keep my best friend than have this come to an end. Be encouraged but more importantly…be lethal with your make up love.

He wrapped his hand around the back of her neck and massaged gently. “Listen to me, Cat, because I’ll only say this once. You’re the finest Lady I’ve ever met and the dearest friend I’ve ever had. Besides that, I love you like a brother, and any bastard who hurts my little sister is going to answer to me.

It was only after my head started reeling and my body started weaving and I tumbled into bed that I'd hear that soothing voice singing...The reverbations of that voice wandered sweetly, softly, working like a massage on the area of my heart that was the most tightly clenched, helping those knots to loosen. It was like the rush of waves, and like the laughter of people I'd met in all kinds of places, people I'd become friendly with and then separated from, and like the kind words all those people had said to me, and like the mewing of a cat I had lost, and like the mixture of noises that rang in the background in a place that was dear to me, a place far away, a place that no longer existed, and like the rushing of trees that whisked past my ears as I breathed in a scent of fresh greenery on a trip someplace... the voice was like a combination of all this.

I listened so hard because it felt like, while she was telling me stories, she was massaging my soul, letting me know that I was not alone, that I will never have to be alone, that there are friends and family and churches and coffee shops. I was not going to be cast into space.

We didn't finish that dance." "Here?" "Why not?" Echo's high heel tapped against the sidewalk, the telltale sign of nerves. I took a deliberate step forward and caught her waist before she coud back away from me. My siren had sung to me for way too long, capturing my heart, tempting me with her body, driving me slowly insane. Now, I expected her to pay up. "Do you hear that?" I aked. Echo raised an eyebrow when she heard nothing but the sound of water trickling in the fountain. "Hear what?" I slid my right hand down her arm, cradled her hand against my chest and swayed us from side to side. "The music." Her eyes danced. "Maybe if you could tell me what i'm supposed to be hearing." "Slow drum beat." With one finger i tapped the beat into the small of her back. "Acoustic quitar." I leaned down and hummed my favorite song in her ear. Her sweet cinnamon smell intoxicated me. She relaxed, fitting perfectly into my body. In the crisp, cold February air, we swayed together, moving to our own personal beat. For one moment, we escaped hell. No teachers, no therapist, no well-meaning friends, no nightmares-just the two of us, dancing. My song ended, my finger stopped tapping the beat, and we ceased swaying from side to side. She held perfectly still, keeping her hand in mine, her head resting on my shoulder. I nuzzled into the warmth of her silky curls, tightening my hold on her. Echo was becoming essential, like air. I eased my hand to her chin, lifting her face toward me. My thumb caressed her warm, smooth cheek. My heart beat faster. A ghost of that siren smile graced her lips as she tilted her head closer to mine, creating the undeniable pull of the sailor lost to the sea to the beautiful goddess calling him home. I kissed her lips. Soft, full, warm-everything i'd fantasized it would be and more, so much more. Echo hesitantly pressed back, a curious question for which i had a response. I parted my lips and teased her bottom one, begging, praying, for permission. Her smooth hands inched up my neck and pulled at my hair, bringing me closer. She opened her mouth, her tongue seductively touching mine, almost bringing me to my knees. Flames licked through me as our kiss deepened. Her hands massaged my scalp and neck, only stoking the heat of the fire. Forgetting every rule i'd created for this moment, my hands wandered up her back, twining in her hair, bringing her closer to me. I wanted Echo. I needed Echo. Her eyes met mine again. "So what does this mean for us?" I lowered my forehead to hers. "It means you 're mine.

Peony…” Cinder shifted closer to the netscreen. “That’s why the android wanted her chip. You’re telling me it would have ended up inside one of them?” “Spoken with true derision for our canine friends,” said Thorne. Cinder massaged her temple. “I’m sorry, Wolf. I don’t mean you.” She hesitated. “Except…I do, though. Anyone. She was my little sister. How many people have died from this disease, only to have their identities violated like this? Again, no offense.” “It’s all right,” said Wolf. “You loved her. I would feel the same if someone wanted to erase Scarlet’s identity and give it to Levana’s army.” Scarlet stiffened, heat rushing into her cheeks. He certainly wasn’t insinuating… “Aaaaw,” squealed Iko. “Did Wolf just say that he loves Scarlet? That’s so cute!” Scarlet cringed. “He did not—that wasn’t—” She balled her fists against her sides. “Can we get back to these soldiers that are being rounded up, please?” “Is she blushing? She sounds like she’s blushing.” “She’s blushing,” Thorne confirmed, shuffling the cards. “Actually, Wolf is also looking a little flustered—” “Focus, please,” said Cinder, and Scarlet could have kissed her.

Who else knows about this besides us?” “Just Patti...” “Okay. That should be okay. Is that it?” “And Kaidan,” I added. My eyes darted everywhere but his face. I was in for it. “Who?” There was an edge to his voice. His eyes searched mine. I didn't want to tell him a single thing about Kaidan. I knew how it would sound. I took my hands from his, pulling the braid over my shoulder to mess with it. “He's my friend. He's the one who drove me here to see you.” “You told some human kid?” I coughed, buying time. “He's Neph, too.” Jonathan LaGray went rigid and his ruddy cheeks paled. I squirmed as his eyes bored into mine. “Which one's his father?” he asked through clenched teeth. “Richard Rowe. I guess you'd know him as Pharzuph.” Oh, boy. He wasn't pale anymore. “You came across the country—” “Shhh!” I warned him as people looked over. He lowered his voice to a shouted whisper. “-with the son of the Duke of Lust? Son of a—” He pounded a fist down on the table and a guard stepped toward us. I waved and nodded at the man, trying to reassure him it was fine, and my father pulled his balled hands down into his lap. After a moment the guard walked back to the wall and looked away. “Don't worry!” I whispered. “I told you; we're just friends.” He closed his eyes and massaged his forehead with his fingers to calm his temper. “You tell him that his father is never to know about you or whatever Sister Ruth tells you. Understand?” “He would never tell his father anything. But, um...” I swallowed. “Unfortunately, Pharzuph already knows about me.” His eyes flashed red again and it nearly stopped my heart. I pressed my back into the seat, causing it to wobble. “Aren't you worried people will see your eyes when you do that?” I asked, sure that my own eyes were gigantic at that moment. “Humans can't see it. And don't try to change the subject. I know Pharzuph,” he growled. “He's a real bastard on earth and in hell. He'd do anything to gain favour.” “Kaidan thinks he'll forget about me if I lie low.” “Maybe momentarily, while he's busy or distracted with his work, but you'll cross his mind again someday.

Humans are like mirrors: We reflect each other. When a wise person wants something from others, she first does what she desires from them, exemplifying rather than asking for it. If you want a friend to remember your birthday, remember hers first. If you want your husband to give you a massage, give him a massage first. If you want your children to watch less TV, turn off your TV first. Don’t just wait for what you want to happen. Act first.

And now we're going for a shopping spree at the mall, at my expense. Shall we get a latte and a ginger scone at the coffee bar? An acupuncture treatment? A massage?" Bruno stared at the guy. "I can't drag her up to Tony's cabin in a miniskirt and heels. There might be snow up there." "Bruno, he's right. Stopping for clothes would be silly," Lily said. "Let's just save that for when we- " "You're spattered in blood!" he yelled. "You're coat is canvas, with no lining! You don't even have any goddamn underwear!" Lily jerked loose of his encircling arm. "You bastard!" she hissed. "I do, too!

It seems like he’s keeping my foot within his grasp for longer than necessary when I see his eyes wander up my legs again. I tingle in every spot his gaze touches. His voice sends shivers up my spine when he asks, “Have you ever been fucked, Eve?” My eyelids flutter and I let out a small surprised gasp at his question, breath gushing from my lips. I’m not exactly a virgin, not too far off though, and I can safely say that I have never been fucked in the way that Phoenix is insinuating. Most of the sex I’ve had has been the fantasy kind. Our eyes lock and he moves his hand from the heel of my foot up along the back of my leg, massaging my shin. I actually moan when his fingers press in, releasing the tension from a knotted muscle. His mouth opens as he watches me. “I don’t think that’s a very appropriate question to ask of a friend,” I finally manage to croak out. He smiles darkly. “I told you I was bad news.

Tell me what to do." His warm breath tickled my ear. "Relax." "Please, Noah, I don't want to do this wrong. Tell me how to make you feel good." He shifted so that his body rested beside mine, his leg and arm still draped over me. I felt small under his warmth and strength. His chocolate-brown eyes softened. "Being with you feels good. Touching you-"he tucked a curl behind my ear"-feels good. I have never wanted anyone like I want you. There's nothing you can do wrong when just breathing makes everything right." His hand framed my face and his tone was edget with husky authority. "I want you, but only if you want me." I kissed him back, allowing my arms to wrap around him. His fingers gently massaged my neck, releasing the tension, erasing my unease. The kiss became a drug and i craved more with every touch. Our bodies twined so tightly to one another, i had no idea where i began and he ended. Noah felt strong and warm and muscular and safe and he smelled, oh, God, delicious. I couldn't stop kissing him if my life depend it upon it: his lips, his neck, his chest, and Noah seemed as hungry as me. We rolled and we touched and we shed unwanted clothes. I moaned and he moaned and my mind and soul and body stood on the edge of pure ecstasy. And i waited. I waited for that moment of pausing for protection and the burning pain my friends described, but Noah never stopped and the pain never came, not even when i whispered his name and praise God several times in a row. Both of us gasped for air while kissing each other softly and i struggled to comprehend i was still a virgin. He shifted off of me and tugged me close to him. My entire body became lazily warm, happy and sated. I listened to his heartbeat and closed my eyes, enjoying the relaxing pull of his hand in my hair. "Noah," i whispered. "I thought..." we were going to make love. He tipped my chin, forcing me to look at him. "We have forever to work up to that, Echo. Let's enjoy every step of the way." My mind drifted this way and that. Mostly between focusing on his heart, his touch and the sweetest word i had ever heard: forever. One clear thought forced my eyes open. "You 're putting me to sleep." "So?" he asked a little too innocently. I swallowed. "I'll have nightmares." "Then we 'll have an excuse to do this again.

See!” Dad yelled. “Boys don’t stay with whores, Bianca. They leave them. And I’m not going to let you turn into a whore. Not my daughter. This is for your own good.” I looked up as he reached a hand down to grab my arm. I squeezed my eyes shut, waiting to feel his fingers clamp around my forearm. But they never did. I heard a loud thud, and Dad grunted in pain. My eyes flew open. Wesley moved away from Dad, who was massaging his jaw with a shocked look on his face. “Why you little shithead!” “Are you all right?” Wesley asked, kneeling in front of me. “Did you just punch my dad?” I couldn’t help but wonder if I was delirious. Had all of this really just happened? Totally bizarre. “Yes,” Wesley admitted. “How dare you touch me!” Dad screamed, but he was having trouble balancing enough to approach us again. “How dare you fuck my daughter, then hit me, you son of a bitch!” I’d never heard my father swear like that before. “Come on,” Wesley said, helping me to my feet. “Let’s get out of here. You’re coming with me.” He wrapped an arm around me, pulling me close against his warm body, and ushered me out the open door.

I told him I’m not sleeping with him. I’m not that easy,” she says. “Still, he invites me to Vegas and tells me he’ll get me my own private suite, and that I could invite my girlfriends. So, I mean, my girlfriends and I obviously decide to go. When we get there, he lets us go shopping with his credit card. So we bought new clothes, facials, massages, purses, everything! Then we joined him and his friends for dinner … Our dinner bill was, like—can you believe this?—$30,000! It was all the wine, appetizers, entrees, desserts, and champagne. The next week, I ignored his phone calls. I mean, I can’t be bought.

From the moment I was first pregnant, and those around me insisted that treats such as cold cuts and nail polish could cut my unborn child's potential IQ in half, I got into the habit of NOT seeking out the little things that brought me joy. Like soft cheese. And getting too close to a Starbucks. Then my son came, and I was too busy crying while searching for his User Manual to consider a manicure or massage. I lasted about a week as a new mom before reaching out to others in my situation online. As exhausted, cranky, and confused as I was, I needed friends. It didn't take long for this gaggle of desperate, sleepless women to meet up in person...

If you’re ever short on cash, you could set up a booth and charge the ladies to massage your bod.” “Oh yeah?” His voice was wary. “Sure. Say, fifteen bucks for a two minute fondle. Strictly PG-13, above the waist, of course. I’ll sell the tickets, if you give me a cut.” His hands stopped moving. She babbled on, dazed and thoughtless. “The gay guys would go for it, too. We’d rake in the dough.” “I’d let you do it for free,” he said. His voice was devoid of irony. Her eyes popped open in alarm. She looked back over her shoulder. The hot glow in his eyes brought her feminine instincts to high alert. She pulled away. She and her big dumb mouth. Sexy banter with a guy she barely knew, but no nerve to back it up.

Perhaps some wine will wash things clean,’ suggested Bugg. ‘Won’t hurt. Pour us some, please. You, guard, come and join us—standing there doing nothing must be a dreadful bore. No need to gape like that, I assure you. Doff that helm and relax—there’s another guard just like you on the other side of that door, after all. Let him bear the added burden of diligence. Tell us about yourself. Family, friends, hobbies, scandals—’ ‘Sire,’ warned Bugg. ‘Or just join us in a drink and feel under no pressure to say anything at all. This shall be one of those interludes swiftly glossed over in the portentous histories of great and mediocre kings. We sit in the desultory aftermath, oblivious to omens and whatever storm waits behind yonder horizon. Ah, thank you, Bugg—my Queen, accept that goblet and come sit on my knee—oh, don’t make that kind of face, we need to compose the proper scene. I insist and since I’m King I can do that, or so I read somewhere. Now, let’s see . . . yes, Bugg, stand right over there—oh, massaging your brow is the perfect pose. And you, dearest guard—how did you manage to hide all that hair? And how come I never knew you were a woman? Never mind, you’re an unexpected delight—ow, calm down, wife—oh, that’s me who needs to calm down. Sorry. Women in uniforms and all that. Guard, that dangling helm is exquisite by the way, take a mouthful and do pass judgement on the vintage, yes, like that, oh, most perfect! ‘Now, it’s just occurred to me that we’re missing something crucial. Ah, yes, an artist. Bugg, have we a court artist? We need an artist! Find us an artist! Nobody move!

A cowboy is someone who loves his work. Since the hours are long—ten to fifteen hours a day—and the pay is $30 he has to. What's required of him is an odd mixture of physical vigor and maternalism. His part of the beef-raising industry is to birth and nurture calves and take care of their mothers. For the most part his work is done on horseback and in a lifetime he sees and comes to know more animals than people. The iconic myth surrounding him is built on American notions of heroism: the index of a man's value as measured in physical courage. Such ideas have perverted manliness into a self-absorbed race for cheap thrills. In a rancher's world, courage has less to do with facing danger than with acting spontaneously—usually on behalf of an animal or another rider. If a cow is stuck in a bog hole he throws a loop around her neck, takes his dally (a half hitch around the saddle horn), and pulls her out with horsepower. If a calf is born sick, he may take her home, warm her in front of the kitchen fire, and massage her legs until dawn. One friend, whose favorite horse was trying to swim a lake with hobbles on, dove under water and cut her legs loose with a knife, then swam her to shore, his arm around her neck lifeguard-style, and saved her from drowning. Because these incidents are usually linked to someone or something outside himself, the westerner's courage is selfless, a form of compassion.

I didn't understand why he had brought his foot on mine. Was it a pass, or a well-meaning gesture of solidarity and comradeship, like his chummy hug-massage, a lighthearted nudge between lovers who are no longer sleeping together but have decided to remain friends and occasionally go to the movies? Did it mean, I haven't forgotten, it'll always remain between us, even though nothing will come of it?,

She sits next to me for hours in the garage, talking nonstop, while I work on my motorcycle. She’ll sit and massage my feet while I practice guitar. I straighten her hair for her with the flat iron because she always misses that one spot in the back of her head. When we’re apart we text and video chat as much as possible. She’s my best friend, and I love her at her best and her worst and everything that falls in the middle.

He ran his hands along my shoulders, the ridges of my collarbones. His fingers sank into the tense muscles of my upper back, massaging in deep, sensual circles that caused a moan to escape my mouth. "You deserve to be taken care of," he said, and then his hand was on my hip, directing me. "Here. Let me do this properly." I turned around, scooting back until I was nestled in between his thighs, and he resumed his slow ministrations, his thumbs digging into the space between my shoulder blades. "Tell me if I'm too rough," he said quietly into my ear, but I could only shake my head. It felt amazing. He ran his nails down my back, the sensation sending a delicious crackle down my spine, before calming the activated nerve endings with a rub all the way down to my lower back. His fingers hooked in the waistband of my leggings, my underwear, before tugging at the stretchy material of the leggings. "Now these," he said. "Only these." I had to stand up to comply with that command, rolling the leggings down from my hips and stepping out of them. It gave me a chance to see Sam's face, his eyes hooded, watching me. Any questions I may have had about whether this was only about my pleasure were answered in that look, and further by the hard ridge of his jeans against my ass when I took my place back between his thighs. I half expected him to touch me in a more explicit way than a massage of the shoulders, but he simply returned to the slow kneading of my back, no more improper than what you might ask a friend to do, albeit with fewer clothes. It made my body scream to be touched---- I wanted his hands everywhere, on my breasts and in my mouth and in between my legs. I ground my ass against his erection through his jeans, trying to send him a message. "Shh," Sam said against my ear, less a command to be quiet and more a soft sound of indulgence. "We have time. We have all night.

So, if you suddenly experienced a financial windfall, you would ultimately be much happier if you spent the money on numerous pleasant, mood-boosting things occurring on a day-to-day or weekly basis—a daily lunch of expensive sushi, a weekly massage, a regular delivery of fresh flowers, or Sunday-morning calls to your best friend in Europe—rather than spend it all on a single big-ticket item that you believe you would really love, like a new top-of-the-line Jaguar or the remodeling of a bathroom with hand-painted tile.

Others may not notice it, because an angry Toraf is truly a rare thing to behold, but Galen can practically feel the animosity emanating from his friend. Which is why he casually bumps into him, taking care to be overly apologetic. “Oh, sorry about that, minnow. I didn’t even see you there.” Galen mimics Toraf’s demeanor, crossing his arms and staring ahead of them. What they’re supposed to be staring at, he’s not sure. His effort is rewarded with a slight upward curve of his friend’s mouth. “Oh, don’t think twice about it, tadpole. I know it must be difficult to swim straight with a whale’s tail.” Galen scowls, taking care not to glance down at his fin. Ever since they went to retrieve Grom, he’s been sore all below the waist, but he’d just attributed it to tension from finding Nalia, and then the whole tribunal mess-not to mention, hovering in place for hours at a time. Still, he did examine his fin the evening before, hoping to massage out any knots he found, but was a bit shocked to see that his fin span seemed to have widened. He decided that he was letting his imagination get the better of him. Now he’s not so sure. “What do you mean?” he says lightly. Toraf nods down toward the sand. “You know what I mean. Looks like you have the red fever.” “The red fever bloats you all over, idiot. Right before it kills you. It doesn’t make your fin grow wider. Besides, the red tide hasn’t been bad for years now.” But Toraf already knows what the red fever looks like. Not long after he first became a Tracker, Toraf was commissioned to find an older Syrena who had gone off on his own to die after he’d been caught in what the humans call the red tide. Toraf was forced to tie seaweed around the old one’s fin and pull his body to the Cave of Memories. No, he doesn’t think I have the red fever. Toraf allows himself a long look at Galen’s fin. If it were anyone else, Galen would consider it rude. “Does it hurt?” “It’s sore.” “Have you asked anyone about it?” “I’ve had other things on my mind.” Which is the truth. Galen really hadn’t given it much thought until right now. Now that it has been noticed by someone else. Toraf pulls his own fin around and after a few seconds of twisting and bending, he’s able to measure it against his torso. It spans from his neck to where his waist turns into velvety tail. He nods to Galen to do the same. Galen is horrified to find that his fin now spans from the top of his head to well below his waist. It really does look like a whale tail. “I don’t know how I feel about that,” Toraf says, thoughtful. “I’ve gotten used to having the most impressive fin out of the two of us.” Galen grins, letting his tail fall. “For a minute there I thought you really cared.” Toraf shrugs. “Being self-conscious doesn’t suit you.” Galen follows his gaze back out into the sea ahead of them. “So what do you think about yesterday’s tribunal?” “I think I know where Nalia and Emma get their temper.” Galen laughs. “I thought Jagen was going to pass out when Antonis grabbed him.” “He’s not very good at interacting with others anymore, is he?” “I wonder if he ever was. I told you how crazy Nalia always acted. Could be a family trait.” It looks like Toraf might actually smile but instead his gaze jerks back out to sea, a new scowl on his face. “Oh, no,” Galen groans. “What is it?” Please don’t say Emma. Please don’t say Emma. “Rayna,” Toraf says through clenched teeth. “She’s heading straight for us.” That’s almost as bad.

Eat and heal your metabolism. Let your body gain weight. Eat carbs. Sleep a lot. Do your lie-down. Say no to things you hate doing. Say yes to things that sound fun. Take personal days. See friends. Eat probiotics or fermented food. Take a supplement to support your adrenals and stress hormones. Breathe deeply. Stretch. Find ways to laugh. Watch or read something life-affirming or heartwarming. When you have energy, move your body in ways you like. Go to your weight-neutral doctor. Get a massage or acupuncture. Go to a therapist you trust. Try new foods. Get out in nature. Get in the sunshine. Put plants in your house.

I’m your friend now,” she told Harley as she massaged his neck and shoulders. “I have plenty of soul to spare. I’m rubbing it into you right now, can you tell?” She was kneading his lower back with her knuckles, and Harley nodded because the warmth was spreading. Pumpkin was making her way into his heart, lighting the corners of his empty soul with a red-gold flame. “You won’t be alone now,” Pumpkin crooned. “I’m part of you, like it or not.” And Harley could sleep. He could close his eyes without spinning away in darkness. He though that sleeping beside Pumpkin must be better than Frank Pike’s crazy sex adventures, but he would keep her a secret. He would keep her locked in that little chamber she’d reached with her fingers through the very walls of his back.

My businessman friend Dudley Wright saw the drawing and I told him the story about it. He said, “You oughta triple its price. With art, nobody is really sure of its value, so people often think, ‘If the price is higher, it must be more valuable!’” I said, “You’re crazy!” but, just for fun, I bought a twenty-dollar frame and mounted the drawing so it would be ready for the next customer. Some guy from the weather forecasting business saw the drawing I had given Gianonni and asked if I had others. I invited him and his wife to my “studio” downstairs in my home, and they asked about the newly framed drawing. “That one is two hundred dollars.” (I had multiplied sixty by three and added twenty for the frame.) The next day they came back and bought it. So the massage parlor drawing ended up in the office of a weather forecaster.

Jack coughed slightly and offered his hand. “Hi, uh. I’m Jack.” Kim took it. “Jack what?” “Huh?” “Your last name, silly.” “Jackson.” She blinked at him. “Your name is Jack Jackson?” He blushed. “No, uh, my first name’s Rhett, but I hate it, so…” He gestured to the chair and she sat. Her dress rode up several inches, exposing pleasing long lines of creamy skin. “Well, Jack, what’s your field of study?” “Biological Engineering, Genetics, and Microbiology. Post-doc. I’m working on a research project at the institute.” “Really? Oh, uh, my apple martini’s getting a little low.” “I’ve got that, one second.” He scurried to the bar and bought her a fresh one. She sipped and managed to make it look not only seductive but graceful as well. “What do you want to do after you’re done with the project?” Kim continued. “Depends on what I find.” She sent him a simmering smile. “What are you looking for?” Immediately, Jack’s eyes lit up and his posture straightened. “I started the project with the intention of learning how to increase the reproduction of certain endangered species. I had interest in the idea of cloning, but it proved too difficult based on the research I compiled, so I went into animal genetics and cellular biology. It turns out the animals with the best potential to combine genes were reptiles because their ability to lay eggs was a smoother transition into combining the cells to create a new species, or one with a similar ancestry that could hopefully lead to rebuilding extinct animals via surrogate birth or in-vitro fertilization. We’re on the edge of breaking that code, and if we do, it would mean that we could engineer all kinds of life and reverse what damage we’ve done to the planet’s ecosystem.” Kim stared. “Right. Would you excuse me for a second?” She wiggled off back to her pack of friends by the bar. Judging by the sniggering and the disgusted glances he was getting, she wasn’t coming back. Jack sighed and finished off his beer, massaging his forehead. “Yes, brilliant move. You blinded her with science. Genius, Jack.” He ordered a second one and finished it before he felt smallish hands on his shoulders and a pair of soft lips on his cheek. He turned to find Kamala had returned, her smile unnaturally bright in the black lights glowing over the room. “So…how did it go with Kim?” He shot her a flat look. “You notice the chair is empty.” Kamala groaned. “You talked about the research project, didn’t you?” “No!” She glared at him. “…maybe…” “You’re so useless, Jack.” She paused and then tousled his hair a bit. “Cheer up. The night’s still young. I’m not giving up on you.” He smiled in spite of himself. “Yet.” Her brown eyes flashed. “Never.

Would you be willing to tell me how the ladies came to be here? I mean, who are they?” Ian drew a long, impatient breath, tipped his head back, and absently massaged the muscles at the back of his neck. “I met Elizabeth a year and a half ago at a party. She’d just made her debut, was already betrothed to some unfortunate nobleman, and was eager to test her wiles on me.” “Test her wiles on you? I thought you said she was engaged to another.” Sighing irritably at his friend’s naiveté, Ian said curtly, “Debutantes are a different breed from any women you’ve known. Twice a year their mamas bring them to London to make their debut. They’re paraded about during the Season like horses at an auction, then their parents sell them as wives to whoever bids the highest. The winning bidder is selected by the expedient measure of choosing whoever has the most important title and the most money.” “Barbaric!” said Jake indignantly. Ian shot him an ironic look. “Don’t waste your pity. It suits them perfectly. All they want from marriage is jewels, gowns, and the freedom to have discreet liaisons with whomever they please, once they produce the requisite heir. They’ve no notion of fidelity or honest human feeling.” Jake’s brows lifted at that.

Fifty Ways to Love Your Partner 1. Love yourself first. 2. Start each day with a hug. 3. Serve breakfast in bed. 4. Say “I love you” every time you part ways. 5. Compliment freely and often. 6. Appreciate—and celebrate—your differences. 7. Live each day as if it’s your last. 8. Write unexpected love letters. 9. Plant a seed together and nurture it to maturity. 10. Go on a date once every week. 11. Send flowers for no reason. 12. Accept and love each others’ family and friends. 13. Make little signs that say “I love you” and post them all over the house. 14. Stop and smell the roses. 15. Kiss unexpectedly. 16. Seek out beautiful sunsets together. 17. Apologize sincerely. 18. Be forgiving. 19. Remember the day you fell in love—and recreate it. 20. Hold hands. 21. Say “I love you” with your eyes. 22. Let her cry in your arms. 23. Tell him you understand. 24. Drink toasts of love and commitment. 25. Do something arousing. 26. Let her give you directions when you’re lost. 27. Laugh at his jokes. 28. Appreciate her inner beauty. 29. Do the other person’s chores for a day. 30. Encourage wonderful dreams. 31. Commit a public display of affection. 32. Give loving massages with no strings attached. 33. Start a love journal and record your special moments. 34. Calm each others’ fears. 35. Walk barefoot on the beach together. 36. Ask her to marry you again. 37. Say yes. 38. Respect each other. 39. Be your partner’s biggest fan. 40. Give the love your partner wants to receive. 41. Give the love you want to receive. 42. Show interest in the other’s work. 43. Work on a project together. 44. Build a fort with blankets. 45. Swing as high as you can on a swing set by moonlight. 46. Have a picnic indoors on a rainy day. 47. Never go to bed mad. 48. Put your partner first in your prayers. 49. Kiss each other goodnight. 50. Sleep like spoons. Mark and Chrissy Donnelly

Jt'i to- You shall love your neighbor as yourself. -LEVITICUS 19:18 Yes, I give you permission to be selfish at times. One thing I notice about so many people is that they are burned out because they spend so much time serving others that they have no time for themselves. As a young mom I was going from sunup to late in the evening just doing the things that moms do. When evening came around I was exhausted. All I wanted to do was take a hot bath and slip into bed and catch as much sleep as possible before I was awakened in the night by one of the children. After several years I remember saying to myself, I've got to have some time just for me-I need help. One of the things I did was to get up a half hour before everyone else so I could spend time in the Scriptures over an early cup of tea. This one activity had an incredibly positive effect upon my outlook. I went on to making arrangements to get my hair and nails taken care of periodically. I was even known to purchase a new outfit (on sale of course) occasionally. As I matured I discovered that I became a better parent and wife when I had time for myself and my emotional tank was filled up. I soon realized I had plenty left over to share with my loved ones. When you're able to spend some time just for you, you will be more relaxed, and your family and home will function better. I find these to be beneficial time-outs: • taking a warm bath by candlelight • getting a massage • having my hair and nails done • meeting a friend for lunch • listening to my favorite CD • reading a good book • writing a poem

Even if he cannot put his hands on the foreign investment, or receive gifts or bribery, he will explore all means of Chinese hospitality, conferences, shark fun lunch, and foot massages, thus will indulge the high-flyer life of the moment, all on his organization's or the government's bill. Naturally, the Chinese host will want to bring his friends, and lengthen the negotiations.

Oh, Cade," Lily whispered, running her hands through his hair and down his shoulders, massaging the tight muscles of his arms as he leaned over her. "You still do not understand, do you? I love you, and I want you to be happy, and you cannot be happy while your mother's land goes to ruin. I can help you, if you will let me, and I will be happy just to be with you. It is not the land that is so important to me, it is you. I know this place will be safe with Travis here and you to guide him when necessary. I can learn to make friends anywhere. I cannot find another husband I would want more than you." Hope finally dawned on Cade's face. "You would go to Bexar with me, live in the hacienda, make that your home?" "Well, it's only fair that Davy be given the same inheritance as Roy," Lily shrugged, trying to hide her delight at Cade's reaction. But

He bows to the two of us, and when he speaks, his voice fills the room, far louder and more booming than a voice should be before noon. “I intend to ride the estate today, if you two would like to join me.” I open my mouth to give him a quick, No thanks, I’d rather pull out my own hair, but Emily beats me to it. “How kind of you to offer! We would love to.” Huh? I can’t figure out why Emily doesn’t hate Alex. He’s a jerk and he’s done nothing to help her out of her engagement. And now she’s volunteering to hang out with him? An excuse…I need some kind of excuse to get out of this. Alex walks to the window and looks out, offering a rather flattering view of the back of his riding pants. “Did you enjoy the dance last evening?” Is he making small talk? That’s a first. “Yes, very much so,” Emily says. “It was delightful.” I nod. “Yeah. I guess so.” I won’t say I had fun because I don’t want him to get the wrong idea. I don’t want him to know dancing with him was the most exciting part of my evening and the most agonizingly long half hour of my life. Alex looks at me for a long silent moment. You’d think he’d bring up the big “lady” versus “miss” debacle. Or just that we’d danced. But he doesn’t. “Yes, I rather enjoyed myself as well,” he says. Seriously, what does that mean? I was the only girl he danced with. The entire night. Is he trying to tell me something? Ha. Right. He probably means that it was all sorts of fun to insult me. And that’s when Emily starts rubbing her temple. She sets her needlepoint down and frowns, massaging in circular motions on the side of her face. Oh, no, she’s not-- “Dear cousin, I am coming down with a headache. Perhaps you and Rebecca ought to ride without me.” I get a twinge when I hear Rebecca. Every day it feels more like we’re friends--and more like I’m betraying her. And then she turns to me, knowing Alex can’t see her, and winks. “Oh, no, I--” I start to say, because I suddenly realize what she’s trying to do. This can not happen. A horseback ride alone with Alex? No thank you! But Alex cuts in before I can stop her. “Yes, I would not have you overexerting yourself. We shall check on you when we return.” Okay, this is not how I want to spend my afternoon. Alone with Alex? I’d rather get a root canal. But…maybe it’s my chance to talk to him about Emily. Maybe he doesn’t know about Trent. Emily said Trent was wealthy, right? He’s not titled, but he has money. If Alex knew about him…maybe he would get Emily off the hook with Denworth. Maybe that’s why Emily is trying to arrange for me to spend time with Alex. She so owes me after this. I can do this. I can hang out with him for a couple hours--long enough to talk him into helping us. Emily jumps up from her chair far too quickly for someone with a headache and leaves the room before I can do anything. I rub my eyes. It’s going to be a long afternoon.

Talk turned to current affairs. When the Bush-Gore election came up, Michael noted, “We discovered that to the credit of Gore he said his favourite book was Le Rouge et Le Noir.” Stendhal was one of Michael’s all-time favourites. “That settled things for Michael,” I said. “Yes,” he quickly agreed. “How’s Plymouth Argyle doing Michael?” Peter asked. “It’s dreadful. We’ve had the worst beginning of a season for years,” Michael replied, dropping his voice in disgust. “So we don’t need to press that subject.” We all laughed. Michael started to rise with his usual stagger. “Are you all right, Michael?” Emma asked. “Just let people help you,” Celine suggested. “I know,” Michael said. “You must do it,” Celine insisted. “You’ve always been independent, but it’s not in your best interests.” Celine was the only one of Michael’s friends who was quite this direct with him. While in Bermuda, Celine and Peter had provided a wheelchair for Michael, so that he could get around more quickly. Celine pressed her case in a jolly way, nearly always punctuating her remarks with laughter. A former centrefold, she was short and zaftig. She recommended that Michael find a nice girl with long hair to give him a massage. “It might work,” Michael agreed. He kept saying his legs had been getting better in Dubrovnik. I saw no sign of that, but I did marvel at how he negotiated the three sets of stairs from the kitchen to the living room (at street level) and then up another flight to where Jill’s study and his library are and then yet another all the way up to his bedroom. It was a very long haul that he laboriously

Fortunately, making friends in law school is easy because of the psychological bonding effects of group terror. In a famous social psychology experiment, researchers put a group of monkeys in the same cage with a group of lions. Monkeys and lions usually don’t socialize because the lions eat the monkeys, which causes hard feelings. Early in the experiment, it appeared events would follow this customary pattern as the lions began chasing the monkeys and the monkeys began bonking the lions on the heads with coconuts. At this point, the researchers inserted a Contracts professor into the cage who began conducting a Socratic dialogue about the doctrine of promissory estoppel. An amazing transformation occurred. The lions and monkeys immediately locked paws and began singing pub songs. Within a few minutes, the lions were giving the monkeys foot massages and the monkeys were encouraging the lions to get in touch with their inner cubs. Okay, that wasn’t a real experiment, but I’m confident it would work out that way. That’s what

The new luxury A swanky corner office on the top floor of a tall building, a plush company-provided Lexus, a secretary. It’s easy to laugh at old-money corporate luxuries. But the new-money, hip ones aren’t all that different: a fancy chef and free meals, laundry services, massages, a roomful of arcade games. They’re two sides of the same coin. That’s the coin given in exchange for the endless hours spent at the office. Away from your family, your friends, and your extracurricular passions.

Want friends? Master the “Art of Listening.” Look people in the eye while they’re talking. Give whole focus like through their brain you peek. Nod when they make a point, ne’er contradict. Most of all, keep them ever high talking like they’re on pedestal—you admiring! Their ego you must keep on massaging; in every feat they tell, give your clapping.

Silver confetti falls from the ceiling. The music launches again, and the sleek young mob dances feverishly, arms in the air. My head throbs along with the bass. Why had I agreed to this? I plug my ears with my fingers. I feel ridiculous beside these twenty-somethings. Marie and her friend apparently do not. They’re drinking the champagne and bopping their heads to the music. I watch a group of girls pucker for a photographer. They’re practically falling out of their tops. I hear Emily’s voice. Prude. “I have to go to the bathroom,” I tell Marie, and slide out of the booth. And I’m thinking of those catacombs, seemingly endless. I can see Emily, the version of her in that coffin. Embalming, the displacement of blood and interstitial fluids by embalming chemicals. I had looked the process up, after Mom insisted on a viewing. She was so beautiful, she cried. I want to see her one more time. The body is washed in disinfectant, limbs are massaged and manipulated, eyes glued closed, mouth and jaw secured with wires. The embalming solution contains dye to simulate a lifelike skin tone. A warm peach tone, the funeral director told us. I could barely stand it. I make my way to the second floor, where the music isn’t techno, only sultry R&B.

the most effective stress-relief strategies are exercising or playing sports, praying or attending a religious service, reading, listening to music, spending time with friends or family, getting a massage, going outside for a walk, meditating or doing yoga, and spending time with a creative hobby. (The least effective strategies are gambling, shopping, smoking, drinking, eating, playing video games, surfing the Internet, and watching TV or movies for more than two hours.)

Turn around,” Caleb said gently when she didn’t speak, “and I’ll wash your back for you.” The experience sounded too pleasant to refuse, and Lily shifted until she was kneeling, facing away from Caleb. The breeze made her nipples stand taut, and she was glad he couldn’t see. “I have another bone to pick with you,” she said as he began a delicious process of washing and massage combined. “Umm?” There had been so many things happening that Lily hadn’t had a chance to pursue this particular subject. “Charlie Fast Horse.” Caleb’s tone was sober. “Oh.” “Yes,” Lily said, looking back over one soapy shoulder, “oh. Caleb Halliday, that was a nasty trick you pulled, pretending that Mr. Fast Horse might buy me for two horses and carry me off to his camp. I was terrified.” He began rinsing away the soap, and when he spoke he didn’t sound the least bit contrite. “It wasn’t prearranged, if that’s what you think. Charlie and his friends just happened by, and there was sort of a tacit agreement to have a little fun with you. You must know that I wouldn’t let anybody hurt you.” Lily

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Sometimes, You Just Need a Vibrator Coach Sommer introduced me to a Russian medical massage specialist who recommended I use the plug-in (not cordless) model of the Hitachi Magic Wand on its high setting. I’ve never experienced such heights of ecstasy. Thanks, Vladmir! Just kidding. In this case, it’s for relaxing hypertonic muscles (i.e., muscles that are tense even though they shouldn’t be). Just place the wand on your muscle belly (not insertion points) for 20 to 30 seconds, which is often all it takes at the proper hertz. Tension headaches or a stiff neck? It’s great for relaxing the occipitals at the base of the skull. Warning: Having Hitachi Magic Wands lying out around your house can go terribly wrong—or terribly right. Good luck explaining your “hypertonic muscles.” As one friend said to me, “I think my wife has that same problem. . . .”   Gymnast Strong Unusual and Effective Bodyweight Exercises In less than eight weeks of following Coach Sommer’s protocols, I saw unbelievable improvement in areas I’d largely given up on. Try a few of my favorite exercises, and you’ll quickly realize that gymnasts use muscles you didn’t even know you had. QL Walk—An Unusual Warmup

Look, sorry to almost take you out. I thought you were his soon-to-be ex, too.” Syn walked over to the couch to get his jacket. “Sure. Whatever, Captain America,” Doug quipped angrily. Syn barked a laugh, putting his coat on. Furi walked over to him, keeping his back to his friend. Wanting to say something, anything to Syn before he left. “You talked to him about me?” Syn didn’t know if he was upset or not about that. He guessed it depended what Furi said. “A couple days back. When I left upset after those college bastards took a cheap shot at me.” Furi huffed. “I was pissed, okay. I didn’t know what you wanted from me. I thought it was just–” Syn moved in close, looking directly at him. “Just what? That you thought I only wanted to play around and experiment with you? Is that what you think?" “Not after what just happened tonight, no. But at that time, I thought so, yes. I only called Doug for a little comfort.” Furi’s voice was deep and raspy, his tight body pressed up close against Syn's. “I’m sure he comforts you damn good, too,” Syn hissed before he could think better of blurting that out. Wow. Really? "It’s not like that. Doug is my friend.” “A friend who just happened to come by after one in the morning and bust through the door to get to you.” “Stop cutting me off. Doug is straight and not my type even if he weren't. I don’t do jealousy, Syn. So knock it off.” Furi leaned in and brushed Syn’s neck with his lips. “Well, he pops up and it’s late as fuck, so what am I to think?” Syn whispered. “Hey, I’m not gonna fuck around with you if I’m already fucking around with someone else. I’m not that type of guy.” Furi moaned in Syn’s ear when he buried his thick palm in Furi's hair, soothingly massaging his scalp. Syn’s deep whisky-rough voice penetrated his brain. “I’m sorry. I’m just all screwed up right now; with you and me, what happened tonight. I just really wish we hadn’t been interrupted.” “Me too.” Syn wrapped his arms around Furi’s narrow waist. “I want to spend more time with you. I need to spend more time with you.” “We will.” “Why do you look upset?" Syn asked. “I’m nervous about the call you just got.” Furi released a shaky breath. “It’s okay. We’ll catch this person soon.” Syn held Furi’s hand, making his way to the door. “Yeah. Sounds like someone is after Illustra’s entertainers,” Doug piped up from his position on the arm of the couch. “My team is good. We’ll catch 'em.” Syn turned to Doug, “I’ll need you to come back to the precinct first thing tomorrow.” “Why?” the man asked with an exaggerated huff. “Because I said so. You were at Illustra not long ago, right?” Syn pulled out his keys while talking, not letting Doug answer. “That means the murder may’ve happened while you were there. So, like I said, I’ll need you to come back in the morning. For now. Stay here with Furi.” Syn took Furi by the shoulders, turning him to face him. “Any shit comes up, you call me on my cell.” Syn handed Furi a card from his inside jacket pocket. “If you have any problems; and I mean any at all, you call me immediately. I’m going to have the beat officer for this area do regular drive-bys to check for activity. Especially since your door is broken now.” Syn glared in Doug’s direction. Furi nodded his head. “Okay.” “I mean it.” Syn smiled and kissed Furi’s cheek like a perfect gentlemen. He leaned in and inhaled his hair one more time, whispering into it, causing Furi to quiver. “Call me later.” Furi nodded again. “Sure thing, Sergeant.

Mmhmm. Like that.” Green moaned. Ruxs pulled one furry cheek to the side and massaged the taut skin around that quivering hole. Marveling at the heat he felt and even more astonished at Green’s response. His friend moaned and bit at him, muttering words that Ruxs couldn’t quite make out. He pushed against his hole a little harder, pressing firmly like he wanted in, only to move away to stroke the sensitive skin of Green’s taint. “Fuck, babe. You tryin’ to make me come already. Your touch feels so fuckin’ good.” Ruxs used his other hand to position his own cock between Green’s legs so his head could nudge at his partner’s tight balls. Ruxs needed some kind of friction too. His dick was swollen and aching again, but it wasn’t about him right now. Green’s legs were straddling his, opening himself up even more. His movements were erratic as he rapidly pulled on his cock, while pumping his hips back into Ruxs’ touch. Ruxs took his middle finger and pressed it back inside Green’s mouth, wetting it quickly. He pulled it out and put it back at that amazingly tight hole. This time he pressed harder, feeling it give in. “Oh

Fun & Games Mario was the first to initiate a game of strip poker. As the losers discarded pieces of clothing, the gathering began a rapid transformation from suggestive sensuality to active sexual magnetism. A few games later, some of us were down to our skivvies. Through the thin cotton fabrics, our erections were veritably obvious. The Count, standing next to his adolescent friend, Tino, began massaging the boy’s shoulders, stimulating his excitement to full attention. Ugo, the boy’s companion, was forthwith turned on watching his friend’s hardness peeking out of his underwear. The sexual instigator had moved to kiss Tino’s neck as he continued rubbing the boy’s penile wetness, stirring him to tilt his bottom towards his aggressor. As we continued our poker game, we were glancing sideways to observe the unfolding erotica, all the while pretending nothing unusual was happening. Through the corners of our permissive eyes we witnessed The Count’s hand sensually caressing the boy’s scrotum. As with many experienced playboys, Mario was no exception to the art of sensuality and sexuality. He was now rubbing his skimpily covered erection against Tino’s willing buttocks. The two items of clothing separating the man’s hardness and the boy’s slit were their moist underwear. Although the adolescent pretended to focus on his cards, his thoughts betrayed his actions as his body lovingly leaned against the Count’s muscular physique. His hands were intimately gripping Tino’s slender waist.

Nurturing Activities Self-Assessment In this section, you will discover the things you are doing now to nurture your well-being. In the section “Things I Do Now,” write all the activities you can think of that you really enjoy that you do now. For example, you may enjoy getting a massage, working out in the gym, playing tennis, reading a novel, or just taking a walk in the woods. Next think about how each of these activities supports one or more of the four dimensions of your personal growth and development: physical, emotional, intellectual, and spiritual. Activities that promote physical development include such things as exercise, relaxation, and massage. Those that promote emotional development include fun things with others that make you happy, such as attending a party with friends, seeing an inspirational film, or just sharing a meal with your family. You can promote your intellectual development by, for example, reading newspapers or intellectually stimulating magazines or books, attending courses, or having intellectual discussions with your colleagues. Activities that give your life meaning and help you connect to something greater than yourself give you spiritual meaning. These can be activities done in a religious context, such as attending services, but they can also be purely secular, such as reading an inspirational poem or practicing mindfulness. Next think about things that you are not doing now but would like to do. Again consider how each of these activities supports the four dimensions. This is your self-care plan. Things I Do Now: Activity Physical Emotional Intellectual Inner Life Self-Care Plan: Activity Physical Emotional Intellectual Inner Life

Memory Makes Magic Happen “Have you ever been away from someone for a while and when you are reunited after a long absence, they ask about something or someone whom you talked about previously? My friend Teresa Palm is an amazing massage therapist. Months can go by between our appointments, however, without missing a beat, she can start up our conversations exactly where we left off ages ago. Her memory has always impressed me and demonstrated that she is interested enough to remember things which were meaningful to me. She always conveys a sincere interest which makes me feel great.

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I can chop, sauté, dice, whisk, knead. Massage. And rub. Among other things." I bite my lip. This feels like some sort of indecent kitchen pillow talk. My eyes skim the shiny metal surface of the nearby prep table. If only there weren't a handful of servers due back in the kitchen at any minute, I'd demand he bend me over the shiny cold surface and show me for the millionth time just how good he is with his hands. That's a decidedly friends-with-benefits thought. I shake my head and glance at the clock. Only four minutes of ogling time left. "You look like you've got something on your mind." It's as if he can read the naughty thoughts crowding my head. My eyes fall to the floor. It's time to rein in the pornographic kitchen euphemisms and focus back on the task at hand.

Dani wasn't his family or his forever, which meant she didn't need to know. But she looked at him, just looked at him, with this quiet, conscious acceptance, as if to say Maybe you're hiding the whole story, but if you need to, I'll let you. And something about that look leaned on every last one of Zaf's pressure points—not in a painful way, not exactly. More like a massage that hurt really fucking good. Maybe she wasn't family or forever, but she was a really good friend [...] one undeniable fact shone like a star: Dani didn't hurt people and she didn't make things worse. She always—always—tried to make them better. That must be why, for the first time in a long time, he wanted to keep talking more than he wanted to shut someone down. He could trust her. He did trust her. He would trust her.

Most of her mom’s friends are things like therapists, or lawyers, or doctors, or they own businesses like wool shops or coffee shops, or they’re stay-home moms who hover over their kids and go to yoga and to the spa for deep tissue massages and mani-pedis. None of them would ever wait on a table.

She said to me, I should’ve not lost so much time being afraid of her dying. But that’s normal, I told her. It’s difficult to lose your friend. Everybody gets afraid. We should be more like the animals, she said. The animals don’t think of the future or the past; they pay attention to what is happening in the present. It is enough to sit with a person. To brush the hair. To massage the feet. To bring them what they need. We can’t fight what we can’t control. She said she missed her.

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Unfortunately for Jemma, all of this prevented me from doing what she probably wanted most: simply closing the bathroom door. It now swung all the way open, so that Jemma was still fully visible on the toilet when three more Secret Service agents came charging up the stairs. All of them had their weapons drawn, ready for action. Jemma screamed again, then kicked the bathroom door shut in their faces. The agents now shifted their attention to me, yanking me off the floor and shoving me up against the wall. Several pairs of hands roughly frisked me at once. I tried to explain what had happened, but the first Secret Service agent had knocked the wind out of me when she’d tackled me. All that came out was a wheeze of air. “Miss Stern?” the biggest of the agents called through the bathroom door. “Miss, is everything all right in there?” “No, everything isn’t all right!” Jemma yelled back. “That little pervert walked in on me!” “It was an accident,” I gasped. “She hadn’t locked the door.” “I shouldn’t have to lock the door in my own house!” Jemma cried. “This is the most secure building in the country! I wasn’t expecting a pervert to be on the loose here!” The Secret Service agents all looked at me accusingly. “I’m not a pervert,” I said quickly. “I’m a friend of Jason’s, here to hang out.” This didn’t seem to convince the agents of anything. “I wasn’t informed of any playdate today,” the big agent said. “It’s not a playdate,” I said quickly. “And it was kind of last-minute. Maybe they forgot to tell you.” “Or maybe you’re a pervert who snuck in here to see Jemma Stern on the toilet,” the agent replied suspiciously. The agent who’d tackled me was massaging her back where she’d been gouged by the stuffed eagle. She pounded on Jason’s door and said, “Jason, could you please come out here?” “I’m busy!” Jason shouted back. I figured he had certainly heard all the commotion in the hall but was willfully ignoring it. “It’s a matter of national security,” the wounded agent said. Jason groaned, and then the sound of his video game paused. His footsteps slowly thumped across the floor. “Could you all possibly handle this somewhere else?” Jemma asked through the bathroom door. “I could really use some privacy.” “We’re taking care of this as quickly as we can, miss,” the female agent informed her. “Feel free to go on with your business.” “You have got to be kidding me,” Jemma groaned.

She’d been lax in her responsibilities as the building owner because her tenants were her friends. Emmylou rented out the left half of the bottom floor space for her massage studio. Chaz rented the tiny center section for his various artistic enterprises. Amery’s graphic design business was on the right bottom half and she lived in the loft that spanned the length of the two-story building.

I’m going to kiss you again.” He took her hand in his. “Now, in fact.” He settled his lips over hers gently, just as he’d done a year ago. And now, as then, he took his time deepening the kiss, tasting her, breathing in her fragrance, letting his hands wander over her arms and shoulders and neck, until she was leaning into him and kissing him back. “All day today,” Val said as he wrapped his arms around her, “I watched you being so brisk, efficient, and businesslike. You have the knack of the friendly transaction, and you part with your produce willingly enough. But your flowers.” He paused to kiss the side of her neck, a spot she seemed to particularly enjoy. “When you sold your posies,” Val went on, kissing his way out to her shoulder, “each time, you didn’t want to let them go. Your heart broke a little, sending them off that way, for coin.” “Hush. Flowers aren’t kisses to be given away…” She buried her face against his shoulder. “What?” He slid a hand to her nape and began massaging gently. “Your moods are hard to read today, love.” “I’m just tired,” Ellen said, offering him a smile.

P lanning a wedding can be murder. Planning weddings for a living is nothing short of suicide. “Is there a patron saint for wedding consultants? Because I think after this wedding, I just might meet the requirements.” I stood near the top of the wide marble staircase that swept down the middle of the Corcoran Gallery of Art’s central foyer. Below me, dozens of tuxedo-clad waiters scurried around the enormous hall filled end to end with tables and gold ladder-backed chairs. After having draped ivory chiffon into swags on all forty tables, I massaged the red indentations left on my fingers by the heavy pins. “Annabelle, darling, I may be a lapsed Catholic, but I’m pretty sure you have to be dead to qualify for sainthood.” Richard Gerard has been one of my closest friends since I arrived in Washington, D.C. three years ago and started “Wedding Belles.” At the time he’d been the only top caterer who’d bother talking to a new wedding planner. Now I worked with him almost exclusively. “The wedding isn’t over yet.”“At least your suffering hasn’t been in vain.” Richard motioned at the room below us. “It’s divine.” The museum’s enormous hall did look magical. The side railings of the staircase were draped with a floral garland, leading to a pair of enormous white rose topiaries flanking the bottom of the stairs. Amber light washed each of the three-story limestone columns bordering the room, and white organza hung from the ceiling, creating sheer curtains that were tied back at each column with clusters of ivory roses. “I just hope the MOB is happy.” My smile disappeared as I thought

having specific things to look forward to massively increases your enjoyment of them. “It extends the experience,” says Cassie Mogilner, a professor of marketing at the University of Pennsylvania’s Wharton School, who specializes in happiness research. “The whole time you’re looking forward to it and anticipating it, you’re getting some of the benefits of the experience itself.” This is one of the reasons why people love vacation travel. You generally have to figure it out at least a few days ahead of time. Indeed, research published in the journal Applied Research in Quality of Life in 2010 found that vacation anticipation boosted happiness levels for eight weeks—an argument for planning more shorter trips rather than a few longer ones. Plan a four-day weekend every other month and the happiness boost could last all year. I know this anticipation factor is why I always have great birthday weeks. Not only do I think ahead of time about what I’d like to do—meeting up with friends, taking the kids somewhere fun, getting a massage—I plan these activities in advance and then enjoy seeing them on my calendar, knowing that tickets are purchased and babysitters are booked.

The main trend on the job market isn’t that we’re moving into entirely new professions. Rather, we’re crowding into those pieces of terrain in figure 2.2 that haven’t yet been submerged by the rising tide of technology! Figure 3.6 shows that this forms not a single island but a complex archipelago, with islets and atolls corresponding to all the valuable things that machines still can’t do as cheaply as humans can. This includes not only high-tech professions such as software development, but also a panoply of low-tech jobs leveraging our superior dexterity and social skills, ranging from massage therapy to acting. Might AI eclipse us at intellectual tasks so rapidly that the last remaining jobs will be in that low-tech category? A friend of mine recently joked with me that perhaps the very last profession will be the very first profession: prostitution. But then he mentioned this to a Japanese roboticist, who protested: “No, robots are very good at those things!

Thirty-Nine Ways to Lower Your Cortisol 1 Meditate. 2 Do yoga. 3 Stretch. 4 Practice tai chi. 5 Take a Pilates class. 6 Go for a labyrinth walk. 7 Get a massage. 8 Garden (lightly). 9 Dance to soothing, positive music. 10 Take up a hobby that is quiet and rewarding. 11 Color for pleasure. 12 Spend five minutes focusing on your breathing. 13 Follow a consistent sleep schedule. 14 Listen to relaxing music. 15 Spend time laughing and having fun with someone. (No food or drink involved.) 16 Interact with a pet. (It also lowers their cortisol level.) 17 Learn to recognize stressful thinking and begin to: Train yourself to be aware of your thoughts, breathing, heart rate, and other signs of tension to recognize stress when it begins. Focus on being aware of your mental and physical states, so that you can become an objective observer of your stressful thoughts instead of a victim of them. Recognize stressful thoughts so that you can formulate a conscious and deliberate reaction to them. A study of forty-three women in a mindfulness-based program showed that the ability to describe and articulate stress was linked to a lower cortisol response.28 18 Develop faith and participate in prayer. 19 Perform acts of kindness. 20 Forgive someone. Even (or especially?) yourself. 21 Practice mindfulness, especially when you eat. 22 Drink black and green tea. 23 Eat probiotic and prebiotic foods. Probiotics are friendly, symbiotic bacteria in foods such as yogurt, sauerkraut, and kimchi. Prebiotics, such as soluble fiber, provide food for these bacteria. (Be sure they are sugar-free!) 24 Take fish or krill oil. 25 Make a gratitude list. 26 Take magnesium. 27 Try ashwagandha, an Asian herbal supplement used in traditional medicine to treat anxiety and help people adapt to stress. 28 Get bright sunlight or exposure to a lightbox within an hour of waking up (great for fighting seasonal affective disorder as well). 29 Avoid blue light at night by wearing orange or amber glasses if using electronics after dark. (Some sunglasses work.) Use lamps with orange bulbs (such as salt lamps) in each room, instead of turning on bright overhead lights, after dark. 30 Maintain healthy relationships. 31 Let go of guilt. 32 Drink water! Stay hydrated! Dehydration increases cortisol. 33 Try emotional freedom technique, a tapping strategy meant to reduce stress and activate the parasympathetic nervous system (our rest-and-digest system). 34 Have an acupuncture treatment. 35 Go forest bathing (shinrin-yoku): visit a forest and breathe its air. 36 Listen to binaural beats. 37 Use a grounding mat, or go out into the garden barefoot. 38 Sit in a rocking chair; the soothing motion is similar to the movement in utero. 39 To make your cortisol fluctuate (which is what you want it to do), end your shower or bath with a minute (or three) under cold water.