Honestly I Don't Give A Damn Quotes

I'm smiling because I know perfectly well what I am and I honestly don't give a damn what you think of me

The truth is, Colonel, that there's no divine spark, bless you. There's many a man alive no more value than a dead dog. Believe me, when you've seen them hang each other...Equality? Christ in Heaven. What I'm fighting for is the right to prove I'm a better man than many. Where have you seen this divine spark in operation, Colonel? Where have you noted this magnificent equality? The Great White Joker in the Sky dooms us all to stupidity or poverty from birth. no two things on earth are equal or have an equal chance, not a leaf nor a tree. There's many a man worse than me, and some better, but I don't think race or country matters a damn. What matters is justice. 'Tis why I'm here. I'll be treated as I deserve, not as my father deserved. I'm Kilrain, and I God damn all gentlemen. I don't know who me father was and I don't give a damn. There's only one aristocracy, and that's right here - " he tapped his white skull with a thick finger - "and YOU, Colonel laddie, are a member of it and don't even know it. You are damned good at everything I've seen you do, a lovely soldier, an honest man, and you got a good heart on you too, which is rare in clever men. Strange thing. I'm not a clever man meself, but I know it when I run across it. The strange and marvelous thing about you, Colonel darlin', is that you believe in mankind, even preachers, whereas when you've got my great experience of the world you will have learned that good men are rare, much rarer than you think.

Yes! And isn't that the root of every despicable action? Not selfishness, but precisely the absence of a self. Look at them. The man who cheats and lies, but preserves a respectable front. He knows himself to be dishonest, but others think he's honest and he derives his self-respect from that, second-hand. The man who takes credit for an achievement which is not his own. He knows himself to be mediocre, but he's great in the eyes of others. The frustrated wretch who professes love for the inferior and clings to those less endowed, in order to establish his own superiority by comparison. The man whose sole aim is to make money. Now I don't see anything evil in a desire to make money. But money is only a means to some end. If a man wants it for a personal purpose--to invest in his industry, to create, to study, to travel, to enjoy luxury--he's completely moral. But the men who place money first go much beyond that. Personal luxury is a limited endeavor. What they want is ostentation: to show, to stun, to entertain, to impress others. They're second-handers. Look at our so-called cultural endeavors. A lecturer who spouts some borrowed rehash of nothing at all that means nothing at all to him--and the people who listen and don't give a damn, but sit there in order to tell their friends that they have attended a lecture by a famous name. All second-handers.

Jubal shrugged. "Abstract design is all right-for wall paper or linoleum. But art is the process of evoking pity and terror, which is not abstract at all but very human. What the self-styled modern artists are doing is a sort of unemotional pseudo-intellectual masturbation. . . whereas creative art is more like intercourse, in which the artist must seduce- render emotional-his audience, each time. These ladies who won't deign to do that- and perhaps can't- of course lost the public. If they hadn't lobbied for endless subsidies, they would have starved or been forced to go to work long ago. Because the ordinary bloke will not voluntarily pay for 'art' that leaves him unmoved- if he does pay for it, the money has to be conned out of him, by taxes or such." "You know, Jubal, I've always wondered why i didn't give a hoot for paintings or statues- but I thought it was something missing in me, like color blindness." "Mmm, one does have to learn to look at art, just as you must know French to read a story printed in French. But in general terms it's up to the artist to use language that can be understood, not hide it in some private code like Pepys and his diary. Most of these jokers don't even want to use language you and I know or can learn. . . they would rather sneer at us and be smug, because we 'fail' to see what they are driving at. If indeed they are driving at anything- obscurity is usually the refuge of incompetence. Ben, would you call me an artists?” “Huh? Well, I’ve never thought about it. You write a pretty good stick.” “Thank you. ‘Artist’ is a word I avoid for the same reasons I hate to be called ‘Doctor.’ But I am an artist, albeit a minor one. Admittedly most of my stuff is fit to read only once… and not even once for a busy person who already knows the little I have to say. But I am an honest artist, because what I write is consciously intended to reach the customer… reach him and affect him, if possible with pity and terror… or, if not, at least to divert the tedium of his hours with a chuckle or an odd idea. But I am never trying to hide it from him in a private language, nor am I seeking the praise of other writers for ‘technique’ or other balderdash. I want the praise of the cash customer, given in cash because I’ve reached him- or I don’t want anything. Support for the arts- merde! A government-supported artist is an incompetent whore! Damn it, you punched one of my buttons. Let me fill your glass and you tell me what is on your mind.

Familiar words chanted through his mind, demanding he speak them. He tried to bite his tongue. Now was hardly the time, and she'd likely laugh. Once spoken, the words would bind him to her for the rest of his life, even if she refused him, which was likely. And once she did, he could never touch another... not that he'd want to, since he hadn't almost from the moment he clapped eyes on her. Unless... what if she spoke the Binding? Whatever she decided, the Mating Call was forever. Despite that, he could not stop. "Become a part of me, as I become a part of you. And ever after—" "Oh my God." She gasped. "Ice, I—" "I promise myself to thee." Sabelle might not want him to finish this Call, and saying it might doom him, but the taste of her still rolled around on his tongue like ambrosia. Instinct reeled, roared. No way would she stop him from trying to stake his claim and make her his. "Ice," she implored. "My brother—" "Is not involved here." He felt his eyes burning into her. "This is between you and me." "But... I—I don't... He won't approve." Bram wouldn't. That went without question. And right now, he could give a shit. But he noticed that she hadn't said she didn't want him. "What do you want? Because I know I want you, princess. Any and every way you'll let me have you." God, her lips were right beneath his, and he needed another taste of her so badly, every cell in his body craved it. Damning caution, he layered his mouth over hers again. She was like sinking into sugar, sweet, light, tempting... addictive. He nibbled at her lips, then prowled deeper, engaging her tongue. Then deeper still, consuming as much of her as he could with a single taste. Again, the urge to claim, to mate, scraped down his instincts, clear, loud, strong. He lifted his mouth, panting over her lips. "Each day we share, I shall be honest, good and true. If this you seek, heed my call. From—" "Stop!" She grabbed him by the sleeves of his robe. "Ice, think. If you say the rest, it's done. Even if I refuse, as long as I live, you'll be bound to me." "I want nothing else." He stared deep into her eyes, as a feeling of rightness, inevitability settled into his gut. "From this moment on, there is no other for me but you.

Technically this is assault and Henry would tell me to verbally request that you not file a sexual harassment claim against me,” she said, turning back to Priya. “Honestly, I don’t give a shit. I just want you to wake up. Although you know, you’re pretty hot and all.” This, too, was part of the story. Sleeping Beauties liked declarations of love, or attraction, or just “damn, girl, look at that body” before they were kissed awake.

Laughter may not be nearly as expressive as language, but it has two properties that make it ideal for navigating sensitive topics. First, it’s relatively honest. With words, it’s too easy to pay lip service to rules we don’t really care about, or values that we don’t genuinely feel in our gut. But laughter, because it’s involuntary, doesn’t lie—at least not as much. “In risu veritas,” said James Joyce; “In laughter, there is truth.”51 Second, laughter is deniable. In this way, it gives us safe harbor, an easy out. When someone accuses us of laughing inappropriately, it’s easy to brush off. “Oh, I didn’t really understand what she meant,” we might demur. Or, “Come on, lighten up! It was only a joke!” And we can deliver these denials with great conviction because we really don’t have a clear understanding of what our laughter means or why we find funny things funny. Our brains just figure it out, without burdening “us” with too many damning details.

You know...give peace a chance, not shoot people for peace. All we need is love. I believe it. it's damned hard but I absolutely believe it. We're not the first to say 'Imagine no countries' or 'Give peace a chance' but we're carrying that torch, like the Olympic torch, passing it from hand to hand, to each other, to each country, to each generation. That's our job...I've never claimed divinity. I've never claimed purity of soul. I've never claimed to have the answer to life. I can only put out songs and answer questions as honestly as I can, but only as honestly as I can, no more, no less. "I used to think that the world was doing it to me and that the world owed me something, and that either the conservatives or the socialists or the fascists or the communists or the Christians or the Jews were doing something to me, and when you're a teenybopper that's what you think. I'm 40 now. I don't think that anymore, 'cause I found out it doesn't fucking work. The thing goes on anyway and all you're doing is jacking off and screaming about what your mommy or daddy or society did...I have found out personally...that I am responsible for it as well as them. I am part of them.

Don't you be wasting of me good time in the numbering of me hands," cried Freckles. "The stringth of me cause will make up for the weakness of me mimbers, and the size of a cowardly thief doesn't count. You'll think all the wildcats of the Limberlost are turned loose on you whin I come against you, and as for me cause----I slept with you, Wessner, the night I came down the corduroy like a dirty, friendless tramp, and the Boss was for taking me up, washing, clothing, and feeding me, and giving me a home full of love and tinderness, and a master to look to, and good, well-earned money in the bank. He's trusting me his heartful, and here comes you, you spotted toad of the big road, and insults me, as is an honest Irish gintleman, by hinting that you concaive I'd be willing to shut me eyes and hold fast while you rob him of the thing I was set and paid to guard, and then act the sneak and liar to him, and ruin and eternally blacken the soul of me. You damned rascal," raved Freckles, "be fighting before I forget the laws of a gintlemin's game and split your dirty head with me stick!

Where am I?” she asked, interrupting him. He seemed startled by her ability to speak, but he stood and retrieved a glass of some amber liquid from a corner table for her. “You sound as terrible as you look, kiddo. Have a sip.” She stared at it. “Oh, you’re no fun,” he said with a little pout. “I suppose you’ll want water instead. Wait here and be quiet—can’t raise the alarm just yet, can we?” Etta wasn’t sure what that meant, but she complied all the same, watching as the young man walked to the door and stuck his head out into the hall. “You, there—yes, you—bring me a glass of water. And don’t bloody well spit in it this time—you honestly think I’m not well versed enough in that fine art to notice?” The response was immediate and irritated. “I’m not your damned servant.” So there are guards after all. The only question was whether they were protecting him, or protecting themselves from him. “I do believe the official decree from your master and commander was, ‘Give the dear boy what he wants.’ This dear boy wants water. And make it snappy. Pep in your step and all that. Thanks, old chum.

I don’t play games to get women naked.” My heart thumps harder in my chest. I take a breath. “What do you do to get them naked?” He stares at me so long; I forget to draw breath. Everything grows fuzzy as the room blurs until I can’t see anything but his face. With an animalistic growl, he pulls me into his arms and kisses me so hard the floor shifts underneath me. I moan softly as his hands travel up my back until he’s gripping the back of my head. Bliss surges through my body as I slide my hands over his muscled arms, and feel his skin rise at my touch. He shifts his weight and pulls back, looking flustered as he stares at me. “I shouldn’t have done that. Sorry,” he says. But I’m not. I’m not sorry at all. When he moves, I grip his shoulders so he can’t move. “If you hadn’t done it, I would have,” I whisper. My stomach flutters as I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him towards me. “Do it again.” There may be hell to pay if we get caught, but if he keeps kissing me like I’m his, I really don’t give a damn. Just for the weekend, I can be someone else. Someone without a care. Someone who lives in the moment and forgets about all the work waiting for me. Inside this cabin, in this beautiful place, with a man who sets my skin aflame, I can be as raw and as honest as I want.

I hate like hell to go, especially with things still so up in the air between us.” Liv was watching him from the bed. “Nothing’s up in the air. You’re determined to keep me and I’m determined to go.” His face darkened. “You’re not so damn determined when I have you in the bathing pool.” Liv felt a heated blush creep into her cheeks but she refused to back down. “Be that as it may, what I say or do in the, uh, in the heat of passion doesn’t change how I feel.” A look that was almost despair crossed over his chiseled features. “Damn it, Olivia, can’t you admit to yourself that you feel for me what I feel for you? Can’t you just try to imagine having a life here with me on the ship?” “I could…if I didn’t already have a life waiting for me back on Earth.” She sighed. “Look, let’s not fight about this right now. You have to go, fine. I’ll manage okay on my own here.” To be honest she was looking forward to a reprieve from the constant lust she felt while being cooped up with him in close quarters. He frowned. “I shouldn’t be leavin’ you alone during our claiming period. If I hadn’t had a direct order from my CO—” “It’s okay, really. I’ll find something to keep me occupied. I’ll try the translator and read one of your books. And I can work the wave well enough to make my own lunch without burning a finger off now.” “All right, fine.” He looked slightly mollified. “But whatever you do, stay in the suite. Don’t leave for any reason.” “Yes, sir!” She gave him a mocking salute. “To hear is to obey, oh my lord and master.” “Lilenta…” He sighed. “This is for your safety. I’m not trying to order you around for the hell of it.” “No, you just want to make my decisions for me. Stay here, don’t go there. Live the rest of your life on the ship instead of ever seeing your loved ones on Earth again. Why should this be any different?” Liv knew an edge of bitterness had crept into her voice but she couldn’t seem to help it. Baird scowled. “In time you’ll see that this is best. The only way I can protect you is to keep you close to me.” “Funny how much being protected feels like being owned.” “I thought you didn’t want to fight.” “You started it.” Liv knew it sounded childish but she didn’t care. He ran a hand through his hair. “Damn it, Olivia…” Then he shook his head, as though sensing the futility of any argument. He pointed a finger at her instead. “I’m going but I’ll be back tonight in time for the start of our tasting week.” “You…I’m surprised you want to…to do anything at all.” Liv worked hard to keep the tremble out of her voice but didn’t quite succeed. He raised an eyebrow. “You mean with you trying to pick a fight at every opportunity and generally resisting me every step of the way? I have news for you, Lilenta, none of that affects the way I feel for you—the way I need you—one bit.” He walked over to the bed where she was sitting on the edge and pulled her to her feet. “I still want you more than any other woman I’ve ever seen. Still need to be inside you, bonding you to me, making you mine,” he growled softly, pulling her close. “Baird, stop it!” She wanted to beat against his broad chest in protest but she somehow found herself melting against him instead. “Don’t you want to give me a kiss goodbye?” There was a flicker of bitter amusement in his golden eyes. “No, I guess you don’t. Too bad.” Leaning down, he took her lips in a rough yet tender kiss that took Liv’s breath away.

You, Joelle, are fucking goddamn mind-blowingly beautiful. I have no idea how you don't see it. Those glasses that you think made you look nerdy? If they're nerdy, then nerdy is so incredibly hot. Because when you wear your glasses, you look smart and sexy. Your hair that you think is unruly and messy? It's not. It's wild. And wild is so fucking hot, I can't even begin to tell you." He presses his eyes shut and shakes his head, like he can barely contain the thought. "I can't take my eyes off it. Every time you brush past me and I feel your hair on my skin, I get goose bumps. And your skin is so soft that every time I've touched you, I've almost lost my damn mind. Like when you were on my lap kissing me, I honest to god thought I was going to pass out. I mean, did you not feel my boner against you? You felt so fucking good I could barely take it." My eyes are wide as I soak in every word he says. "When we started working in the same space together, I overheard you mention how big your ass is when you were joking with your mom and aunt. Why? Your ass is a fucking national treasure. Why do you think I spent so much time grabbing it while we were fooling around?" Against his palm, I let out a muffled "oh" sound. It's the sound I make when I've figured out an especially challenging crossword puzzle clue. These are some damn good points he's making. Shaking his head, he looks away for a split second, like he's so frustrated, so hell-bent on getting these words out that he needs a moment to collect himself. His eyes cut back to me. "Do you have any idea the way people look at you? Everywhere you go, people can't take their eyes off you. Nonstop. And you don't even notice it because you're too focused on others. Do you have any clue how sexy it is? Everyone else is so concerned with their image and what people think of them. But you don't give it a second thought. Even if you don't realize it, you come off so sure of yourself. It's the hottest thing ever.

You’ve already made your commitment to me when you admitted you loved me. Nothing else matters. I don’t give a damn how complicated it all becomes. You’re mine now. Do you honestly believe I’m ever going to let you go?

I said to him at last, 'I don't want your damn pity.' 'It's not pity. Tamlin said I shouldn't tell you-' He winced a bit. 'I'm not made of glass. If the naga attacked you, I deserve to know-' 'Tamlin is my High Lord. He gives an order, I follow it.' 'You didn't have that mentality when you worked around his commands to send me to see the Suriel.' And I'd nearly died. 'I was desperate then. We all were. But now- now we need order, Feyre. We need rules, and rankings, and order, if we're going to stand a chance of rebuilding. So what he says goes. I am the first one the others look to- I set the example. Don't ask me to risk the stability of this court by pushing back. Not right now. He's giving you as much free rein as he can.' I forced a steady breath to fill my too-tight lungs. 'For all that you refuse to interact with Ianthe, you certainly sound a great deal like her.' He hissed, 'You have no idea how hard it is for him to even let you off the estate grounds. He's under more pressure than you realise.' 'I know exactly how much pressure he endures. And I didn't realise I'd become a prisoner.' 'You're not-' He clenched his jaw. 'That's now how it is and you know it.' 'He didn't have any trouble letting me hunt and wander on my own when I was a mere human. When the borders were far less safe.' 'He didn't care for you the way he does now. And after what happened Under the Mountain...' The words clanged in my head, along my too-tense muscles. 'He's terrified. Terrified of seeing you in his enemies' hands. And they know it, too- they know all they have to do to own him would be to get ahold of you.' 'You think I don't know that? But does he honestly expect me to spend the rest of my life in that manor, overseeing servants and wearing pretty clothes?' Lucien watched the ever-young forest. 'Isn't that what all human women wish for? A handsome faerie lord to wed and shower them with riches for the rest of their lives?' I gripped the reins of my horse hard enough that she tossed her head. 'Good to know you're still a prick, Lucien.' His metal eye narrowed. 'Tamlin is a High Lord. You will be his wife. There are traditions and expectations you must uphold. We must uphold, in order to present a solid front that is healed from Amarantha and willing to destroy any foes who try to take what is ours again.

Not selfishness, but precisely the absence of a self. Look at them. The man who cheats and lies, but preserves a respectable front. He knows himself to be dishonest, but others think he’s honest and he derives his self-respect from that, second-hand. The man who takes credit for an achievement which is not his own. He knows himself to be mediocre, but he’s great in the eyes of others. The frustrated wretch who professes love for the inferior and clings to those less endowed, in order to establish his own superiority by comparison. The man whose sole aim is to make money. Now I don’t see anything evil in a desire to make money. But money is only a means to some end. If a man wants it for a personal purpose—to invest in his industry, to create, to study, to travel, to enjoy luxury—he’s completely moral. But the men who place money first go much beyond that. Personal luxury is a limited endeavor. What they want is ostentation: to show, to stun, to entertain, to impress others. They’re second-handers. Look at our so-called cultural endeavors. A lecturer who spouts some borrowed rehash of nothing at all that means nothing at all to him—and the people who listen and don’t give a damn, but sit there in order to tell their friends that they have attended a lecture by a famous name. All second-handers.

We are gathered here today in the sight of God—oh shit, that part doesn’t really apply.” He consults his envelope again, then asks the crowd. “Does anyone have a pencil?” Again, he catches Felicity’s eye, and she gives him a gesture that clearly says move on. “Right. So. Not God. Sort of God—I don’t think he’d have anything against this, to be honest. But we’re here.” He looks up again from his notes, and seems to see Monty and Percy for the first time. His shoulders relax, and his face breaks into a smile so big his eyes crinkle, like there are no two people on earth he loves more. “To join these two in matrimony. And we don’t give a damn if it’s holy or not.” “Please don’t be crass at my wedding,” Monty says. His dark hair is studded with splashes of color from the wildflower garland. A single stem of yarrow has come free and is dangling down over his ear. “In lieu of scripture,” George says, as though he wasn’t interrupted, “Monty has requested I read an erotic poem.” The assembly laughs and Monty goes fantastically red. He glares at George, mouth puckered mostly to keep himself from smiling. Percy has to turn away to conceal his laughter.

I buttoned my own shirt reluctantly though there wasn't much I could do about my throbbing hard on aside from plan a trip back to my room as soon as I could possibly get out of this training session so that I could jerk off repeatedly with all of the new spank bank material she'd just gifted me. Tory remained on the desk in front of me and I was hoping that was because her legs weren't working right yet. The thirst prickled at me again as I eyed her throat and she sighed loudly as she noticed. “You’re still going to bite me, aren’t you?” she asked, her fingers curling around the edge of the desk. “You could look at it as rewarding me for my efforts,” I teased, because there was no fucking way she was getting out of here without me drinking from her and we both knew it. “Well that makes me feel a little better about leaving you with blue balls,” she taunted and I almost groaned in frustration as my dick throbbed in agreement. “Next time, I’ll be sure to carve out a few hours to dedicate to you,” I told her. “And then neither of us will be left wanting.” “Next time?” she asked, raising an eyebrow like that wasn't at all likely to happen. But I could hear her heartbeat pounding and I knew she was wondering how hard I could make her come with several hours at our disposal and my cock a whole lot more involved in the act. I found myself smiling again but then my mood dipped as I realised there wasn't likely to be a next time if the other Heirs succeeded with their plans for the dance. I didn't even really want to go along with the damn plan and in a moment of madness, I suddenly wondered if I could just save her from it. They would still strike at Darcy and maybe that would be enough to force the twins to leave the academy. But if I was being honest, I didn't even really want them to leave anyway. I moved closer to her again, tucking a lock of dark hair behind her ear. “Are you going to the dance on Friday?” I murmured and her pulse scattered, making my smile deepen in satisfaction. “Err, yeah,” she said, that suspicious look returning to her eyes. “Why don’t you blow it off?” I suggested, wondering if I could just convince her to stay away from it all together. She was my Source after all so the others couldn't even really get mad at me for protecting her - that was kinda in the job description anyway. She blinked at me in surprise and I realised she'd probably thought I was going to ask her to go to the dance with me as her date. But I couldn't do that, if I wanted to save her from the other Heirs and their plans then I needed to keep her away from the whole thing. “What possible reason would I have to do that?” she asked, shifting just enough to make my hand fall from her face. I felt the rejection before she could even voice it, but I wasn't going to give up that easily. I ran my dislodged hand down her arm instead, raising goosebumps along her skin and hopefully reminding her of just how good I'd made her feel with these fingers. “Because then I could sneak out and come to your room. We could have the whole House and an entire evening to ourselves." “That’s pretty presumptuous of you, Earth boy.” “Earth boy?” I asked in amusement, refusing to back down no matter how hard she was trying to resist me. I held a hand out to her, bringing earth magic to my fingertips and causing a dark blue flower to blossom in my palm. Girls fucking loved that trick. “Perhaps I’ve gotten what I wanted from you now,” she said, shifting forward to get up without reaching for the flower. Okay, so maybe this girl didn't love that trick after all. I let the flower dissolve into nothing again and stepped forward to stop her from getting to her feet, smiling darkly. “I’m confident you’ll come back for more,” I promised her and I could tell she was at least a little tempted by the prospect.(Caleb POV)

I’m gonna come home, Mom, even if it’s not forever. I can take a semester off and then decide if I’ll go back next year. You guys need me here. It might be hard for Dad, and I—” “You’ll do no such thing,” Dad said, his voice raspy. “We didn’t mean to wake you,” Mom replied. “You didn’t. I always wake up when I’m needed.” Dad’s eyes on me were intense. “You’re not comin’ home.” “You’ve said it yourself, I belong here. You’re my family, and I’m supposed to be working this farm with you.” The words were heavy in my chest. “No, son. You don’t belong here. And not because we don’t love you or want you. You’re too damn bright a light for this place, and the last thing I want is to go to my grave knowing that my dreams for you dimmed that light.” “Dad… I…” I didn’t know what to say. Or what to feel, other than loved. “Nearly dying does a thing to a fella. I just… When I was goin’ down, all I was thinkin’ was, what if I died and my boy thinks I don’t love him? Don’t accept him? And listenin’ to you with your mama right now…you talk about that boyfriend of yours the way I always talked about her. Couldn’t believe she would give me the time a day, if I’m being honest. But I loved her and she loved me, and you love that boy just the same.

She ignored his expression, watching Hallie. "People might judge you for her supposed defect." As he stared at his complicated fiancée, the fiancée that he knew thought of her shyness as a flaw, that tight feeling in his chest constricted to the point where dragging in a breath was a great achievement. His luck, he was allergic to his damn familiar. "I really don't give a shit what people think of me," he told Emma honestly. "Let them say what they want-- their funeral. And I don't see imperfection when I look at Hallie." His eyes caressed Emma's downturned face. "I see strength.

Raylan is tempting in a way that terrifies me. I’ve never been so aroused by a man. I’ve never felt this desperate. I’m used to being pursued. I’m used to having the upper hand. I have no advantage with Raylan. If I let go right now, if I give in to this desire, I’ll be completely out of control. I’ll be in totally uncharted territory. I don’t understand my desire for him or how I feel about him as a man. Sometimes he drives me insane. And sometimes I admire him, against my will. None of that is normal for me. None of it is comfortable. He scares me. My only protection is pretending I don’t want this. Pretending I’m committed to another man. But I can’t lie to Raylan. He’s too honest, too open. And too damn perceptive. He’ll know if I lie. It’s pointless. “I broke up with him.

You don’t have to tell me, but does Luke have anything to do with this?” “No. No, of course not.” “You sure about that?” She turned away from her uncle. “I’ve been thinking about things and…” She turned back. “Listen, it’s tempting to just stay here, like this, forever. I could travel from here, go to school from here… There’s no future in it, that’s all. I’m thinking like a boxer—I want to go out a winner.” “Has he hurt you, Shelby?” She shook her head. “Just the opposite. Things are nice enough that if I stay in this pattern for six more months, I might stay for six more years. But, Uncle Walt, it’s never going to become all I’d like it to be. It won’t change. My clothes will hang in your closet and I’ll spend most of my nights at his house. In the long term, I’m looking for something more than that….” Walt pursed his lips and shook his head. Under his breath he muttered, “That sorry son of a bitch…” “Now stop,” she said firmly. “You’re surprised by this? Be fair—I had a big crush on Luke. He was always wonderful to me and it would probably be just fine with him if I didn’t move on. But it’s going nowhere. In the end, I’d be selling out. That’s not what I intend to do.” He looked at the floor and shook his head. Then he took a slow sip of his coffee. “Remember that song, Uncle Walt?” she asked him. “‘Me and Mrs. Jones, we got a thing going on…?’ Me and Mr. Riordan, we have a thing going on…and the next man in my life is going to be more than a thing. I want the whole deal. And Luke said from the start, if I was looking for something like that, I wouldn’t find it with him. Really, if I’m honest with myself, I never doubted that.” “This is your decision, then?” he asked. “Oh, absolutely. I haven’t even mentioned this to Luke yet. And you’re under strict orders—you are not to treat him like he’s done something wrong. Do you hear me? Because if you do, you’re going to be in big trouble with me. Are we clear?” “If that’s what you want.” “It’s what I want.” Then she laughed. “Give him a year, he’ll be so damn sorry he let me go.” “You think so, huh?” “Oh, you bet. He’ll manage to find women—he’s good-looking and can be real charming. But he won’t find one like me. And once I make a clean break and get myself in a new life, he’s gonna be shit outta luck.” Walt chuckled. “You’re a lot tougher than you look.” “Yeah, I know. You shouldn’t underestimate me so much. It’s your biggest mistake. And it’ll be Luke’s, too.” “Honey, all I want is that you be happy. If these plans make you happy, then I’m on board. Just as long as he hasn’t hurt you.” “He hasn’t. He’s been great to me. But I want more than he has to give. I want it all, Uncle Walt.” “Then

Yeah I see,” Syn said quietly. Ro’s phone rang and he picked it up, giving Syn a couple of private minutes, which were needed because his heart was beating a mile a minute. The fates can’t be that cruel. To make the only man, no forget that; the only person that Syn had been interested in in over ten years a suspect in a murder case he was overseeing. On top of everything else, the man is married. This isn’t good. Ro disconnected his call and Syn asked him, “How soon before this one arrives?” “He’s already here in room five. You coming?” Ro asked, taking Furious’ file from his hands. “I’ll watch.” Syn walked beside Ro to the interrogation rooms. Then he thought better of it, and decided he needed to be honest with his men. They worked effectively together, but most of all they had each other's backs. Ro was a good man and Syn felt he could trust him. “Ro wait.” “What’s up?” Syn blew out a breath and scratched at the hair on top of his head, which was grown out enough that it was already starting to curl. “Syn what’s going on?” Ro looked genuinely concerned, his vibrant blue eyes staring intently at him. Syn looked back and forth as uniforms brushed passed them in the hall. Ro clasped a firm grip on Syn’s shoulder and ushered him into one of the vacant offices. “Talk to me man. You’re my Sarge but I consider you a friend first. That’s the way we operate. If you have a problem, then I have a fuckin’ problem, and so do twenty-one other men. But between you and me right now, what’s up?” Syn rubbed the back of his neck and tried to ease some of the tension there. “This guy Furious.” Ro shook his head indicating he was listening. “I’m kind of, um … we uh … he’s my,” Syn stuttered not quite finding the right words. “You know him and you like him,” Ro finished for him. Syn looked Ro in the eye. “Yeah, I like him.” Syn took a deep breath. “He’s the first him that I’ve liked in a very long time.” “I see.” Ro rubbed his hand over his cheek again. Syn knew the gesture meant Ro was thinking. “Shit’s all fucked up now. I can’t date a goddamn suspect, a married goddamn suspect.” “Hey whoa. We don’t know the situation with the marriage yet. The reasons I thought he could be a suspect? They might be easily explained away.” “You’re the one said you think he’s hiding something,” Syn argued. “Yes, I did. This guy is married, right? He leaves his husband in a way that makes the man file a missing persons on him, and then Furious changes his name, and not back to his birth name. It looks like he’s hiding from him, I just need to find out why.” Ro pulled a paper from the file. “This shows him making regular deposits to an account in a bank located in Los Angeles. The account is under a different name and has over ninety thousand dollars in it.” “So he stole his husband’s money and hauled ass in the middle of the night. Fuckin’ great.” Syn yanked the door open, ready to charge into interrogation room five and tell Furious he could go to hell. “Geez, hold on a minute, Sarge.” Ro grabbed his arm and pulled him back inside, slamming the door closed. “No wonder Day likes you so much. Both of you go off half-cocked all the fucking time. That money wasn’t stolen. It was life insurance proceeds from when his father died. He might’ve been hiding it from the husband. The contributions he’s been making since then have been small but frequent.” “He’s a porn star, Ronowski! I can’t date a damn porn star! Fucking other women and probably men. What the fuck?” Syn was yelling and pacing now. He knew it wasn’t fair to yell at Ro, but he was the only one there now.

Your love is the one you look upon.’ Oh, Ren,” she whispers, throwing her arm around me and kissing my neck. “This is insanely sweet. And thank goodness you weren’t ‘looking upon’ the wonton soup when you read it.” I laugh as I kiss her back. “I’m so glad it was you instead.” “You didn’t really love me at first sight,” she says skeptically. “That doesn’t exist.” “I don’t know, buttercup. You walked through the door on my first day, and my heart kicked in my chest. Knocked the wind right out of me.” “Hm. Well, for my part, I realized I liked you when I bumped into that fabulous naked chest.” “Francesca.” I growl softly against her neck and nip it. “Okay. It was when you were doing shirtless push-ups.” Pressing her into the sofa and sliding down the blanket, I settle between her legs. “Gumdrop, you’re taunting me.” “Doodlebug.” Frankie slides her arms down my back. “I’m going to be real honest and confess the first thing I liked about you was your butt, but only because you’d passed me while my head was down, walking into the meeting room, so I only caught the back half of you.” She gives the backside in question an affectionate squeeze. “But then I walked in, and saw this copper hair, those wintry eyes.” She sighs. “And I thought, ‘Well, damn. He’s off-limits, Frankie. So fuhgeddaboudit.

How do you know you’re ready to move on? From her.” My hands stilled and the muscles in my back strained. Son of a bitch. After such a good night, this was about to fucking suck. “I don’t.” It was her turn to stiffen, but her fingers wandered up my forearms to my biceps. “Thank you for being honest.” My gut wrenched. “What I do know is that today, tonight, has been incredible. You have been incredible, and I’ve loved every minute of being here with you. You deserve a better answer than what I just gave you. But if you’re willing to give me a little time, I’m going to work so damn hard to get my head straight and figure it out.

I knew I loved men as soon as I reached puberty and am not afraid to accept my sexual preference. I live an honest and truthful life. I don’t make a secret about my sexual preferences, although there are those that disapprove of my unorthodox way of living. But I don’t give a damn what they think.

Well, there’s that one thing that kind of goes with I’m in love with you,” he continued. “If you want to get married, I’m game.” “I don’t know…” “And if you don’t want to, it’s okay. As long as I have your naked body up against mine on a very frequent basis, I’ll get along. I’m leaving the whole issue completely up to you, Muriel.” “Why, Walt?” He shrugged. “I don’t have a problem with marriage. I liked it, it worked for me. No boogeymen or curses as far as I’m concerned. Whatever you decide you want to do, either way I’m claiming you. Don’t try to wiggle out of it. It’s a done deal.” “I don’t want to get out of it. I like you.” “You love me,” he corrected. “Passionately. Desperately. Insatiably.” “I do,” she laughed. “You make me feel twenty-one,” he said. “Honest to God. And when the fabulous sex simmers down a little, you’re the best friend I’ve had in a long time. Muriel, you’re not a convenience. I’d walk across a mile of cut glass in my bare feet to hold your hand and talk to you for one hour. You’re everything to me.” She sighed deeply and her eyes glistened a little. “I’d better go before I give up the only Oscar of my lifetime by playing house with you.” “Tell me I’m everything to you, too,” he said. “Damned if you aren’t,” she said. “Now kiss me in a way that will hold me for a couple of weeks.” “Kind of took you by surprise, didn’t I?” he teased. “Admit it, you didn’t think this would turn out to be so much, did you?” “Walt, the second I saw you blush when you asked if I was married, I knew. And I wanted you. Right then. Right there. Sweaty and naked on the trail.” That made his smile huge. “You didn’t let on.” “I hadn’t wanted something like that in a long, long time,” she said, smiling. Then she rose on her toes and planted a big sloppy one on his lips, holding him close. “I adore you,” she whispered against his lips. “I’ll count the seconds until you’re back.” *

I give her another once-over, taking in her long, toned legs, her smooth stomach, thankfully visible due to her why-bother-wearing-me top. Her body is drop-dead gorgeous, but when you reach her eyes, they speak nothing of vixen, rather more like pure innocence. A total contradiction that has my mind reeling. “So, what are you supposed to be? A cat?” She glances at her outfit and sighs, taking another sip of her beer. She almost seems bored to be at the party. “I’m pretty sure I’m supposed to be a panther but my roommates fell short in the costume department.” “Yeah, really short,” I add, eyeing her barely-there skirt. “Please tell me you’re wearing something under that.” “Nope,” she answers, sipping her beer and then smacking her lips. “I like to feel the wind in my undercarriage when I’m walking.” I wince. “Undercarriage? Fuck, I don’t want you to call it that.” She laughs and shakes her head. “I’m not a lady of the night, Knox. Of course I have something under this skirt.” She lifts up the side, flashing tiny black boy shorts. “Honestly, I’m going to be a librarian. I need to be sensible.” Sensible? More like hot as fuck. I saw partial ass cheek. I grip my beer close to my mouth and take a deep breath. “A sensible librarian wouldn’t flash a horny college guy her underwear.” “Well, maybe I’m more of a modern-day librarian then.” She winks and starts to walk away. “Hey, where are you going?” She looks over her shoulder. “I have more people to flash. Don’t think you’re the only lucky one.” Damn, that doesn’t sit well with me. Not one fucking bit.

I saw how you treated that woman yesterday, and we’ll have none of that in this house.” Betty’s face—Olive could suddenly see this distinctly—looked as though she was twelve years old again and sulking. “And stop sulking,” Olive said. “Honest to God, it’s time you grew up.” Betty shifted her rump on the chair and said, “You told me we weren’t going to discuss politics.” “Damn right,” said Olive. “And that woman is not politics. She’s a person, and she has every right to be here.” “Well, I don’t like the way she looks, that stuff she wears, it gives me the creeps. And it is politics,” Betty added. Olive thought about this, and finally she sighed and said, “Well, in my house you are to be nice to her, do you understand?” And Betty got up and started to do some laundry.

I wasn't interested in "saying" anything in my work. The only thing I could use my works to say is "I don't want to say things!" I couldn't say anything beyond that. I didn't give a damn if one character was another or not - I couldn't even remember who my characters were! And I couldn't understand why anyone would read me. I honestly thought I was writing the most unreadable stuff around.