Hottest Love Quotes

The hottest love has the coldest end.

Alright, good night,” he said, his words a little slurred. “But before I pass out, I want you to know that you’re the hottest biscuit this side of the gravy boat.

Well I've been calling myself Scarlet Pattinson for several weeks. Have you seen Robert Pattinson? Hottest. Man. Ever. And no, I don't care if that makes me a couger. He sings with the voice of an angel. Gods, I love when a man sings to me. You never did because your voice is terrrible." She shuddered in distaste. "I swear, its like a demon running its claws over brimsone.

I'm fucking the grave, I thought, I'm bringing the dead back to life...

Why did everyone always paint love as pretty rainbows and happily ever afters? It wasn't any of that. To love was to feel the greatest of agony, burn in the hottest fires of hell and fail the only people who mattered.

Living up to his reputation as the hottest billionaire in town, Lachlan switched from boyish to devilishly handsome within a blink. With those ocean blue eyes, he offered so many shades of gorgeous I kept forgetting to breathe around him.

Religion is tied to the deepest feelings people have. The love that arises from that stewing pot is the sweetest and strongest, but the hate is the hottest, and the anger is the most violent.

But often, it is the forbidden that is the hottest, and the depraved that is the most arousing

Maybe instead, I wanted the kind of love that devastates you. The kind that rips your insides open and leaves you gutted, out in the cold. Maybe I wanted that great, epic, once-in-a-lifetime love, that consumes with the brightest of flames. And maybe, even though I knew the hottest fires often burn out the fastest, even though it couldn’t last… it was worth it. People say love isn’t supposed to be painful. But maybe the best things in life are the ones that hurt the most after they’re gone.

If you're in love, love to the limit; and if you hate, why hate like the devil and if it's a fight you're in, get where it's hottest and fight like hell - if you don't life's not worth the living.

The man kisses me and I just hop right on him like he's the hottest new ride at Disneyland.

I had tried to teach her that nobody should be able to see when you were scared. That nobody should be able to tell when you were uncertain. That you shouldn't show it when you loved someone. And that you smiled with particular affection at someone you hated.

The hottest places in hell are reserved for people who maintain neutrality in times of crisis,” I say, licking my spoon.

That soul of hers, tempered by the hottest of forges, has been and always will be mine.

Girls and women sense this. We want to be liked. We want to be trusted. So we downplay our strengths to avoid threatening anyone and invoking disdain. We do not mention our accomplishments. We do not accept compliments. We temper, qualify, and discount our opinions. We walk without swagger, and we yield incessantly. We step out of the way. We say, “I feel like” instead of “I know.” We ask if our ideas make sense instead of assuming they do. We apologize for…everything. Conversations among brilliant women often devolve into competitions for who wins the trophy for hottest mess. We want to be respected, but we want to be loved and accepted even more.

His kiss is a broken promise on borrowed time. His touch is faulty fuse struck with the hottest match. We possess all the potential in the world without an ounce of fulfillment. We are a lost cause, doomed before our inception.

I don’t remember waking up that Sunday morning —- perhaps I never slept. Iwas just sitting up in bed watching Sarah sleep. She’d slept naked in my bed but she hadn’t let me have sex with her. I didn’t care. I loved watching her sleep. The light was falling through my window, all over the blue sheets of my old bed, and onto her face. I lifted up the sheets and watched her breasts move with her breath. They seemed to be sleeping themselves. I hoped that she wouldn’t wake up. I laid the sheet back over her, right up to her chin. I looked up and out of my room. I thought, This must be what praying is like.

The simmering lust, the raging interest exploded into love. Who wouldn’t fall in love with a man who took the time to feed a homeless kitty? She held that image against her heart like a secret jewel. Only she knew about it, she was sure. Those girls Liam might’ve slept with, girls who left their panties in his locker or wrote things about him on the bathroom walls…they didn’t know what Posey knew— Liam Declan Murphy was not just the hottest thing ever to grace Bellsford High…he was a softy, too.

All the strength I had gathered as a woman, mother, and lover wilted, instantly and completely. It was like being flung onto jagged rocks at low tide, belly up at high noon on the longest, hottest day of the longest year of your life. There seemed no bottom to my grief, no way out, just through. Through darkness, isolation, and the deprivation of his touch.

The hottest love has the coldest end

I’ll do whatever you guys want to do,” she says. “The hottest places in hell are reserved for people who maintain neutrality in times of crisis,” I say, licking my spoon. She laughs. “I thought the hottest places in hell were reserved for women who don’t help other women.” “Well, I suppose hell has a lot of rooms.

Long after the celebrations were over, as she was fixing him a late-night snack in her lodge—their lodge, she asked without looking at him, “Are you sure you’re okay with being a member of both packs? I mean, you don’t feel like you’ve betrayed Trey?” It would be stupid, but she could understand it. From his seat at the kitchen table, he replied, “Hmm.” He had no idea what she’d asked. Come on, did she really expect him to understand a word she said when she was strolling around in nothing but a tank top and a pair of boy shorts? It was one of the hottest things ever and gave him little peaks of that ass he loved. It didn’t matter that he’d been inside her only twenty minutes ago. He could never get enough of her. Confused by his response, she looked over her shoulder . . . and rolled her eyes. “Could you stop ogling my ass for just one second?” “Hmm.

But often, it is the forbidden that is the hottest, and the depraved that is the most arousing.

fuck it. If I’m going to be a psycho, I’m going to be the hottest damn psycho Logan International Airport has ever seen.

Have you found the hottest manny in town and are you going to make totally adorable manny-nanny babies called Annie?

Your oddity is your hottest commodity but you scratch yourself like it's the lottery to reject yourself mentally, spiritually & bodily.

World’s Hottest Billionaire.” “I hate you.” “Nah. You love me. I’m the sunshine to your grumpy.” My brows pinch together. “What?” “It’s a thing in romance books⁠—

He could do anything to her, anything, and she'd let him. Maybe even love it, as long as it got him off. It was ridiculous. It was humbling. It was the hottest fucking realization of his life.

I lean my head back and stare at the stark white ceiling. “My friend Zoe used to say I had obsessive compulsive disorder when it came to Kalvin Kennedy, and I argued nonstop with her about it, but she was right. I see that now. There was nothing healthy or normal about the way I crushed on him. I had no interest in slapping 1D on my walls when the hottest boy on the planet lived in the house next door.

Some unknown but apparently significant number of both homosexual and heterosexual couples do seem to believe that sex is hottest with comparative strangers and love is the property of emotional trust and intimacy.

Not sure how I feel about being described as respectable by the hottest guy on campus, for a number of reasons. 1. It’s not sexy. 2. That’s not how I would describe myself if I had to choose adjectives. 3. It’s not sexy.

It didn’t matter where you put your unconditional love, once given, the stealing away of it was an assault to every sense. Smells were the worst—they could ambush you, put you smack back in the middle of the hottest part of the grief. The scent of a peaches-and-cream candle. The brand of deodorant she’d used. Her pillow back home. The smell of the bookstore in the evening, when I’d believed Barrons was dead. When you love too hard, you can lose the will to live without them. Everywhere you look is a great big sucking absence of what you once had and will never have again. And life gets weirdly flat and too sharp and painful at the same time, and nothing feels right and everything cuts.

The moan that falls from Archer’s lips is the sexiest sound I’ve ever heard. I didn’t know a man could moan like that, and it’s the hottest thing in the world. I love that our sounds of pleasure and our skin slapping against each other fill the room.

Advice. Who’s the coolest, toughest, hottest rocker girl you can think of?” “Debbie Harry,” Mom said. “Tha—” “Not finished,” Mom interrupted. “You can’t ask me to pick only one. That’s so Sophie’s Choice. Kathleen Hanna. Patti Smith. Joan Jett. Courtney Love, in her demented destructionist way. Lucinda Williams, even though she’s country she’s tough as nails. Kim Gordon from Sonic Youth, pushing fifty and still at it. That Cat Power woman. Joan Armatrading.

A steampunk nation Baby pollution rises up then the loving comes arraigning 'cause Our art's official and only partially artificial And our heart's in the middle of sharp hardened shards of metal but There's not where it settles Because it's beating to the steaming of God's hottest pot or kettle And now we face it, this creation we made to To save our craving for a synthetic rebelnation it's Our safeway they make into a pathetic revelation In our steampunk nation Our steampunk nation

From: James Grayson To: Luke Whitford Dec 12 I sucked him off again. From: Luke Whitford To: James Grayson Dec 12 What? Details, mate! Were you drunk again? From: James Grayson To: Luke Whitford Dec 12 We weren’t drunk. It was a normal evening. We were just hanging out, played some video games, had a pizza—you know, all the normal things. And then…then I was on my knees again. Honestly, I don’t know how it happened! He didn’t say a word. We looked at each other and I just dropped to my knees in front of him. And he let me. He let me, Luke! I know we should have talked first, should have said something, but I couldn’t. I was scared to freak him out. I could feel how tense he was. He just stared at me hard, his face totally impossible to read. So I went for it. Fuck, it was the hottest thing I’ve ever done. Now I understand why people say that sex is better with someone you love. I’d never understood those people who raved about sucking dick, but Jesus, I could spend days sucking Ryan’s. And he got really rough, you know. Like, he fucked my mouth, not just passively allowed me to blow him. From: Luke Whitford To: James Grayson Dec 12 Okaaay. Let’s pretend this isn’t awkward at all and I’m not turned on. What happened after that? You couldn’t have passed out again. You weren’t drunk this time.

Stegner shows us, again and again, that it is love and friendship, the sanctity and celebration of our relationships, that not only support a good life, but create one. Through friendship, we spark and inspire one another’s ambitions: What ever happened to the passion we all had to improve ourselves, live up to our potential, leave a mark on the world? Our hottest arguments were always about how we could contribute. . . . We made plenty of mistakes, but we never tripped anybody to gain an advantage, or took illegal shortcuts when no judge was around. . . . I didn’t know myself well, and still don’t. But I did know, and know now, the few people I loved and trusted. My feeling for them is one part of me I have never quarreled with, even though my relations with them have more than once been abrasive.

When he slides in, I press my eyes shut and groan. This is going to be so, so good. His smooth, slow thrusts turn animalistic in a matter of minutes. All I can do is cry out as the pleasure consumes me from head to toe, gripping for dear life onto the glass. My head is shrouded in a fog of arousal. I can't get out a single coherent thought other than more, harder, faster, please. I tell Max exactly that. And he does it all. When his sounds turn quick and desperate, when his fingers turn viselike against my hips, I slide one of my hands between my thighs and circle frantically in the spot I need it most. This is the wildest, most lustful thing I've ever done in my life. Never in a million years did I think I'd ever be the type of girl who wants to have sex against a window overlooking downtown Portland, but I've never been so turned on. I've never been so consumed with pleasure. This is the effect Max Boyson has on me. Not only does he make me ooey-gooey on the inside with his thoughtful gestures, his sweet words, and the way he looks at me like I'm the only person in the room. But with a single teasing kiss and the touch of his hand on my skin, I turn sex-crazed. He makes me feel so sexy and comfortable all at once. I love love love all the sides this man brings out in me. With a firm hand, he grips my jaw and turns my face to the side so he can plant a desperate kiss on my mouth. Soon I'm trembling as climax threatens to wreck me. When it hits, that's exactly what happens. I groan-scream and come apart in Max's grip. My head goes foggy as pleasure annihilates me. It's a glorious end, though. I'm left quivering, barely able to stand, but Max holds me securely in his arms. It's the sweetest and hottest hug from behind: his entire body covers me while his open mouth rests against my shoulder, gasping and growling at once.

As she’s scrolling through her feed, a picture from the ski trip pops up. Haven’s in the Charlottesville Youth Orchestra, so she knows people from a lot of different schools, including mine. I can’t help but sigh a little when I see it--a picture of a bunch of us on the bus the last morning. Peter has his arm around me, he’s whispering something in my ear. I wish I remembered what. All surprised, Haven looks up and says, “Oh, hey, that’s you, Lara Jean. What’s this from?” “The school ski trip.” “Is that your boyfriend?” Haven asks me, and I can tell she’s impressed and trying not to show it. I wish I could say yes. But-- Kitty scampers over to us and looks over our shoulders. “Yes, and he’s the hottest guy you’ve ever seen in your life, Haven.” She says it like a challenge. Margot, who was scrolling on her phone, looks up and giggles. “Well, that’s not exactly true,” I hedge. I mean, he’s the hottest guy I’ve ever seen in my life, but I don’t know what kind of people Haven goes to school with. “No, Kitty’s right, he’s hot,” Haven admits. “Like, how did you get him? No offense. I just thought you were the non-dating type.” I frown. The non-dating type? What kind of type is that? A little mushroom who sits at home in a semidark room growing moss?

This is the best idea you’ve had all day. And you’ve had a ton of good ones. You are so the idea girl. Quitting your job? Great idea. Getting Lay to give you the latex replica of yourself? Stellar. Just gotta follow through. The excessive drinking? Also masterful. And now we’re going to kick ass in person. I love it. Let’s dress you up, though. We’ll make Hudson’s balls cry big, girly tears when he thinks of all the anal he could have had with you tonight.” “Did I tell you he has his tongue pierced? And his dick pierced?” Verity asked, holding Angie by her face. “Do you know what that means to a vagina? Are you aware of the commitment he’s made to my vagina’s happiness? He slapped his man meat out somewhere…” She waved a boozy hand at the city. “Thought about pleasure, and took a stab in his pee hole. Do you even understand that?” “You did mention that already. And the tongue one is hard to miss.” Angie nodded seriously. “Let’s find the hottest thing you own and pour your boobs in it. Have I told you you have great tits? Your tits are the sweetest friends with my tits.” They proceeded to bump their boobs together. “Okay, let’s go.” Angie dragged Verity to her closet.   Verity Michaels @VerityPics03 I’ve never thunk Fireball was a bad idea. #RageDrinking   Verity Michaels @VerityPics03 Angie made me sexlicious. #GreatTitBuddies   Verity Michaels @VerityPics03 Pierced dicks are fucktacular. #PoundTown

I will not love what I cannot respect! Come to me a loyal man, and see what answer I shall give you.' "Then she went away. It was the wisest thing she could have done, for absence did more to change me than an ocean of tears, a year of exhortations. Lying there, I missed her every hour of the day, recalled every gentle act, kind word, and fair example she had given me. I contrasted my own belief with hers, and found a new significance in the words honesty and honor, and, remembering her fidelity to principle, was ashamed of my own treason to God and to herself. Education, prejudice, and interest, are difficult things to overcome, and that was the hottest fight I ever passed through, for as I tell you, I was a coward. But love and loyalty won the day, and, asking no quarter, the Rebel surrendered." "Phil Beaufort, you're a brick!" cried Dick, with a sounding slap on his comrade's shoulder. "A brand snatched from the burnin'. Hallelujah!" chanted Flint, seesawing with excitement. "Then you went to find your wife? How? Where?" asked Thorn, forgetting vigilance in interest. "Friend Bent hated war so heartily that he would have nothing to do with paroles, exchanges, or any martial process whatever, but bade me go when and where I liked, remembering to do by others as I had been done by. Before I was well enough to go, however, I managed, by means of Copperhead influence and returned prisoners, to send a letter to my father and receive an

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.

I splash enough water in Chloe's face to put out a small house fire. I don't want to drown her, just exfoliate her eyeballs with sea salt. When she thinks I'm done, she opens her eyes-and her mouth. Big mistake. The next wave rinses off the hangy ball in the back of her throat and makes it to her lungs before she can swallow. She chokes and coughs and rubs her eyes as if she's been maced. "Great, Emma! You got my new hair wet!" she sputters. "Happy now?" "Nope." "I said I was sorry." She blows her nose in her hand, then sets the snot to sea. "Gross. And sorry's not good enough." "Fine. I'll make it up to you. What do you want?" "Let me hold your head underwater until I feel better," I say. I cross my arms, which is tricky when straddling a surfboard being pitched around in the wake of a passing speedboat. Chloe knows I'm nervous being this far out, but holding on would be a sign of weakness. "I'll let you do that because I love you. But it won't make you feel better." "I won't know for sure until I try it." I keep eye contact, sit a little straighter. "Fine. But you'll still look albino when you let me back up." She rocks the board and makes me grab it for balance. "Get your snotty hands off the surfboard. And I'm not albino. Just white." I want to cross my arms again, but we almost tipped over that time. Swallowing my pride is a lot easier than swallowing the Gulf of Mexico. "White than most," she grins. "People would think you're naked if you wore my swimsuit." I glance down at the white string bikini, offset beautifully against her chocolate-milk skin. She catches me and laughs. "Well, maybe I could get a tan while we're here," I say, blushing. I feel myself cracking and I hate it. Just this once, I want to stay mad at Chloe. "Maybe you could get a burn while we're here, you mean. Matterfact, did you put sunblock on?" I shake my head. She shakes her head too, and makes a tsking sound identical to her mother's. "Didn't think so. If you did, you would've slipped right off that guy's chest instead of sticking to it like that." "I know," I groan. "Got to be the hottest guy I've ever seen," she says, fanning herself for emphasis. "Yeah, I know. Smacked into him, remember? Without my helmet, remember?" She laughs. "Hate to break it to you, but he's still staring at you. Him and his mean-ass sister." "Shut up." She snickers. "But seriously, which one of them do you think would win a staring contest? I was gonna tell him to meet us at Baytowne tonight, but he might be one of those clingy stalker types. That's too bad, too. There's a million dark little corners in Baytowne for you two to snuggle-" "Ohmysweetgoodness, Chloe, stop!

I felt like we both had the sun inside of us. Our own ways to stay warm. So when our bodies came together, it was the hottest thing I’d felt.

Gerald smirked. “Oh yeah. Hottest thing I ever saw in my life, those two studs going at it. Next time I saw Colt out there, I told him I’d love to tune up that monster of his.

Just a normal dinner party, Dallas thought. Just your average, every day evening around the table with the man who may well have masterminded your kidnapping, the sister you're in love with, and the older woman you used to sleep with. No doubt about it--as a group, they made one hell of a Norman Rockwell painting.

If you are all set for an enjoyable weekend then simply head towards the magnificent Her Majesty’s Theatre! The popular London Westend theatre is running the award winning London show, The Phantom of the Opera with packed houses. The show has already made its remarkable entry into its third decade. The blockbuster London show by Andrew Lloyd Webber is a complete treat for music lovers. The popular show has won several prestigious awards. The show is set against the backdrop of gothic Paris Opera House. The show revolves around soprano Christine Daae who is enticed by the voice of Phantom. The show features some of the heart touching and spell binding musical numbers such as 'The Music of the Night', 'All I Ask of You' and the infamous title track, The Phantom of the Opera. The Phantom of the Opera is a complete audio visual treat for theatre lovers. In the year 1986, the original production made its debut at the Her Majesty's Theatre featuring Michael Crawford and Sarah Brightman. Sarah was then wife of composer Andrew Lloyd Webber. The popular London musical, The Phantom of the Opera went on becoming a popular show and still London's hottest ticket. The award winning show is a brilliant amalgamation of outstanding design, special effects and memorable score. The show has earned critical acclamation from both the critics and audiences. The show has been transferred to Broadway and is currently the longest running musical. The show is running at the Majestic Theatre and enjoyed brilliant performance across the globe. For Instance, the Las Vegas production was designed specifically with a real lake. In order to celebrate its silver jubilee, there was a glorious concert production at the Royal Albert Hall. The phenomenal production featured Ramin Karimloo and Sierra Boggess as Phantom and Christine. If you are looking for some heart touching love musical the Phantom of the Opera is a must watch. With its wonderfully designed sets, costumes and special effects, the show is a must watch for theatre lovers. The show is recommended for 10+ kids and run for two hours and thirty minutes.

I picked up my phone from my nightstand, skin prickling all over with hurt, eyes stinging a little too brightly at the words he’d written down on the paper…until I saw the text message waiting for my on the screen. At some point, Sully had changed his name in my contacts from ‘Hottest Guy In The World’ to ‘Lamest Guy In The World’. The lone message he’d sent to me contained few words, but they hit hard. Sully: Don’t do it, Lang. Don’t go. I sat up in bed, staring at the note, re-reading it over and over again, knowing now what he was really telling me. He did love. He would miss me. He didn’t want me to go.

And why is it that Homo sapiens was descended from hairy apes but wound up naked—as Wallace had gone to some pains to point out? Even in hottest horrid-torrid Africa, animals such as antelopes had fur to protect them from the wind and rain. So did man…way back in that invisible past, where Evolution lives. Starting out, said Darwin, man was as hairy as the hairiest ape. Why no longer? Blind, aren’t you, Wallace? You didn’t get the second half of my title, The Descent of Man, and Selection in Relation to Sex, did you. Evolution, said Darwin, had turned Homo sapiens into a more sensitive animal, which in turn gave him something approaching aesthetic feelings. The male began to admire females who had the least apelike hides because he could see more of their lovely soft skin, which excited him sexually. The more skin he saw, the more he wanted to see. Obviously valued by the males because their hides were much less hairy, the most sought-after females began to look down their noses at the old-fashioned hairy males, one crude step away from the apes themselves. Generation after generation went by, thousands of them, until, thanks to natural selection, males and females became as naked as they are today, with but two clumps of hair, one on the head and the other in the pubic area, plus wispy, scarcely visible little remnants of their formerly hirsute selves on the forearms and lower legs and, in the case of some males, the chest and shoulders.b Yes, their backs got cold, terribly cold, as Wallace had argued. But what poor Wallace didn’t know was that the heat of passion conquered all…and that was “How Man Lost His Hair Over Love.” (Got that, Wallace?)

I threw on a pair of leggings - not my threadbare ones - and a Thor shirt. The shirt would remind both me and Logan that he was not actually the hottest guy in the world.

The hottest places in hell are reserved for people who maintain neutrality in times of crisis.

I thought the hottest places in hell were reserved for women who don't help other women.

Well, that was elegant. Way to run into the door, like in some slapstick movie, as the hottest man you’ve ever seen in your life looks on with lust-filled eyes after kissing you unlike you’ve ever been kissed before. I

Meredith Chambers, hottest romance agent in New York, filthiest mouth east of the Mississippi. Or west, come to think of it. Some women walking by give her a shocked, slightly annoyed expression. She responds with aplomb. “Legs together, ladies. I’m not afraid of a little muff diving.

It was one of those slightly lopsided, lazy smiles that only the hottest guys can pull off without

[...] my father staggering in drunk, beating my mother, the shame and hate in him burning, burning. Then he'd hit my brothers. And then me whom it was said he loved most. He'd save me for last, when his anger was ashes, when the fire was hottest. And then he's hold me, 'Sugar, sugar', he's croon, the tears so thick they made a lake on the linoleum floor.

I weave through LA's famous Farmers Market, which is really more of an outdoor food court, and now I'm a few minutes late. And the place is packed and there's still the uncertainty about where to meet when I look down and realize I'm wearing yellow pants. Yellow pants. Really? Sometimes I don't know what I'm thinking. They're rolled at the cuff and paired with a navy polo and it looks like maybe I just yacht my yacht, and I'm certain to come off as an asshole. I thin about canceling, or at least delaying so I can go home and change, but the effort that would require is unappealing, and this date is mostly for distraction. And when I round the last stall--someone selling enormous eggplants, more round than oblong, I see him, casually leaning against a wall, and something inside my body says there you are. 'There you are.' I don't understand them, these words, because they seem too deep and too soulful to attach to the Farmers Market, this Starbucks or that, a frozen yogurt place, or confusion over where to meet a stranger. They're straining to define a feeling of stunning comfort that drips over me, as if a water balloon burst over my head on the hottest of summer days. My knees don't buckle, my heart doesn't skip, but I'm awash in the warmth of a valium-like hug. Except I haven't taken a Valium. Not since the night of Lily's death. Yet here is this warm hug that makes me feel safe with this person, this Byron the maybe-poet, and I want it to stop. This--whatever this feeling is--can't be a real feeling, this can't be a tangible connection. This is just a man leaning against a stall that sells giant eggplants. But I no longer have time to worry about what this feeling is, whether I should or shouldn't be her, or should or should't be wearing yellow pants, because there are only maybe three perfect seconds where I see him and he has yet to spot me. Three perfect seconds to enjoy the calm that has so long eluded me. 'There you are.' And then he casually lifts his head and turns my way and uses one foot to push himself off the wall he is leaning agains. We lock eyes and he smiles with recognition and there's a disarming kindness to his face and suddenly I'm standing in front of him. 'There you are.' It comes out of my mouth before I can stop it and it's all I can do to steer the words in a more playfully casual direction so he isn't saddled with the importance I've placed on them. I think it comes off okay, but, as I know from my time at sea, sometimes big ships turn slowly. Byron chuckles and gives a little pump of his fist. 'YES! IT'S! ALL! HAPPENING! FOR! US!' I want to stop in my tracks, but I'm already leaning in for a hug, and he comes the rest of the way, and the warm embrace of seeing him standing there is now an actual embrace, and it is no less sincere. He must feel me gripping him tightly, because he asks, 'Is everything okay?' No. 'Yes, everything is great, it's just...' I play it back in my head what he said, the way in which he said it, and the enthusiasm which only a month had gone silent. 'You reminded me of someone is all.' 'Hopefully in a good way.' I smile but it takes just a minute to speak. 'In the best possible way.' I don't break the hug first, but maybe at the same time, this is a step. jenny will be proud. I look in his eyes, which I expect to be brown like Lily's but instead are deep blue like the waters lapping calmly against the outboard sides of 'Fishful Thinking.' 'Is frozen yogurt okay?' 'Frozen yogurt is perfect.

He could do anything to her, anything, and she'd let him. Maybe even love it, as long as it got him off. It was ridiculous. It was humbling. It was the hottest fucking realization of his life.

If love was a sin, God Himself would be in the hottest part of Hell.

Here’s how this will play out. I’m going to walk you to your door and then I’m going to pull you in for the hottest, most incredible kiss you’ve ever had. It will be so intense that you’ll think about it a lot over the next few days. You’ll also recall that we had a good time and you’re going to want to do it all over again.” “Is that so?” I asked, unable to keep the smile from my face. He was so damned confident. “Yeah, it’s so.” And it went down exactly as he said, including a kiss hot enough to melt the siding off my house, the daydreaming about the way it made me feel, and the longing to be with him again. Asshole!

Do you think my mother would be disappointed in me?” I ask him, surprised. “I think she would want you to be happy, Ara. In the way of mounting the hottest eligible bachelor in New York.” I choke on a small obnoxious laugh. Of course Luca can make even this about him. Was that so bad? He wasn’t a good man. But perhaps he was perfectly matched for me. He saw my ugliness and still fell for it. Didn’t he? “Do you love me, Luca?” I ask. “I wouldn’t be asking to share the rest of my days with you, Ara, if I didn’t. I don’t know exactly how to love, but I’ll do my best for you.” “I think I love you too, Luca.” “Think?” he demands as he flips me onto my back. “Why don’t you tie me up with that belt and make me certain?” “I don’t know if I should use it to gag you or tie you to the bed.” “I’m coming to learn how multi-purpose a belt can be,” I say as my body and tits jolt under the harsh tug as she restrains me. “We’ll just have to make sure we install the right set up in your apartment with proper restraints so you can discover more than just a belt, sweetheart.” “In my apartment?” I squeak as he nestles between my thighs. “Of course. You still owe me a key.

A pale pink flush of arousal stained her face, and her gaze remained locked to mine as her tongue darted out to lick a drop of cum from the corner of her mouth. Holy fuck. I’d witnessed or partaken in just about every filthy sex act imaginable, but that small movement might’ve been the hottest thing I’d ever seen.

However, there are other attributes that do contribute to success in marriage. There are other “stats” that are far more important than looks. But since everyone is focused on physical beauty, the people who maybe aren’t the “hottest” prospects, but who actually would make the best spouses, far too often get overlooked. They’re out there, waiting for someone like you. And whereas (let’s be honest) you probably wouldn’t have a shot with the “hot” guy or girl—there’s too much competition there—you could actually have a lot of success with the person who doesn’t get asked out as much as they deserve. You could finally “win,” in dating and in marriage, by focusing on the right characteristics.

RABBIT INVENTS THE SAXOPHONE When one of the last trails of tears wound through New Orleans Rabbit, that ragged trickster, decided he wanted To be a musician. He was tired of walking. And they had all the fun. They got all the women, they were surrounded By fans who gave them smokes, drinks, and he could have All kinds of friends to do his bidding. But, Rabbit hadn’t proved to be musical. When he led at stomp dance no one would follow. No shell shaker would shake shells for him. He was never invited to lead, even when the young ones Were called up to practice. The first thing a musician needs is a band, he said to his friends. The hottest new music was being made at Congo Square— So many tribes were jamming there: African, Native, and a few remnant French. Making a new music of melody, love and beat. Rabbit climbed up to the stage but had nothing to offer. Just his strut, charming banter, and what looked like a long stick Down the tight leg of pants. Musicians are musicians, no trick will get by.

This time it was a strawberry shortcake with homemade whipped cream. If Angela closed her eyes, she could still remember the fluffy perfection of the shortcake, the ripe flavor of the strawberries, the sweet thickness of the cream. But more than that, she remembered a summer day from her childhood that the cake made her recall. She'd been only seven years old, and on the hottest day of the summer, she and Daddy had gone down to Sweet Creek, which ran right through town, meandering behind houses and through the park, until it emptied into Dove Pond itself. Daddy had loved creeks, and there was nothing he liked better than to roll up his pants and walk barefoot over rocks worn smooth by cool, shimmering water. She'd learned to love that same experience herself. That summer day, the heat of the late afternoon had dissipated as the coolness of the water washed over their feet. They'd held hands as they walked, and had laughed and talked as they splashed and scared off more fish than she could count. Oh, how she relished that memory. And Ella's cake had made it so immediate, so real, that when Angela had finished swallowing the final bite, she'd had to wipe away happy tears. That had been one of the best days of her life. But then that was the beauty of an Ella Dove cake. It wasn't just the flawlessness of the bake, or the richness of the flavors, although they were something to behold themselves. It was the unexpected memories of those perfect combinations of flavor and texture stirred. The glimpses of special, exquisite moments from one's past were astoundingly real and, oh, so precious.

But at that particular moment in time, he was the hottest director in the hemisphere. Critics had loved his unsentimental debut Dead Antelope, and it had become trendy to suggest his sophomore effort, Kiki Vandeweghe, should have won the Oscar for Best Picture.

Rafe told everyone he was from Texas. That was bull. I’d dated a summer guy from Texas, and Rafe’s drawl was all wrong. His last name suggested he was Latino, and he kind of looked it, but his high cheekbones and amber eyes said Native to me. He was a little taller than Daniel, lean, with black hair that hung just past the collar of his leather jacket. Worn blue jeans and low motorcycle boots completed the image: American Teen Rebel. It was a look we didn’t see a lot at our school, and the other girls loved it. Not that Rafe needed the added cachet. Considering we’d had the same guys in our class since kindergarten, Rafe’s novelty factor alone would have had the girls tripping over themselves. He was the hottest ticket in town. And he knew it. When I bumped into him, I said a polite, “Hey,” and tried to get past. “Hey, yourself.” He grinned and, in spite of myself, I felt a little flip in my stomach. Rafe wasn’t gorgeous, but he had a sexy, crooked smile and eyes that looked at a girl like she was the first one he’d ever seen. When he stood close, I swore I could feel heat radiating off him. And Rafe always stood close. As I backed up, he hooked a thumb toward the conference room. “Barnes in there?” he asked, meaning the principal. I shook my head. “Haven’t seen him. Ms. Morales was around, though.” “Yeah, I talked to her. She says I need to talk to Barnes. Late once too often this week.” That grin sparked again, like being late for school earned him a place in the bad boy hall of fame.

Who agrees to date their best friend over a green smoothie? Apparently this girl right here.  Now the man-bun-sporting South African rugby god next door is my fake boyfriend. I need to rebuild my confidence after some poor dating decisions. Who could be better to fluff my ego than Aspen’s hottest bachelor?

I've never admitted this to Sam or to anyone else, but sometimes I wonder what life would have been like if Sam hadn't become one of the hottest pop stars in the world. Would we have stayed friends throughout college? Would we still have gotten together? I like to think we would have. Maybe we would be hanging out on a second-hand futon with our friends, binge-watching Netflix on a laptop, and wearing jeans and free t-shirts from Freshman Orientation. He'd casually drape his arm around my shoulders while we ate popcorn straight out of the bag and absolutely no one would care. He wouldn't be rich or famous or well-dressed, but he would still be Sam. The same Sam I've known and loved my entire life.

We don’t get to love people because they are perfect or because they’ve made every right decision. Love is not a reward for good behavior. Love is unconditional because the strongest love endures the hottest fire.

Leave it to me to hire the hottest goddamn nanny on the planet. Her skin is luminous in the firelight, and those green eyes of hers… well, I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like them. She’s fucking gorgeous, and my kids love her.

Damn it—she loved that calendar: Hottest Bachelors of Crescent City: Clothing-Optional Edition.