Lean On Me Friendship Quotes

Jem gave her a wistful look. “Must you go? I was rather hoping that you’d stay and be a ministering angel, but if you must go, you must.” “I’ll stay,” Will said a bit crossly, and threw himself down in the armchair Tessa had just vacated. “I can minister angelically.” “None too convincingly. And you’re not as pretty to look at as Tessa is,” Jem said, closing his eyes as he leaned back against the pillow. “How rude. Many who have gazed upon me have compared it to gazing at the radiance of the sun.” Jem still had his eyes closed. “If they mean that it gives you a headache, they aren’t wrong.

Still, I wonder if we shall ever be put into songs or tales. We're in one, of course, but I mean: put into words, you know, told by the fireside, or read out of a great big book with red and black letters, years and years afterwards. And people will say: "Let's hear about Frodo and the Ring!" And they will say: "Yes, that's one of my favourite stories. Frodo was very brave, wasn't he, dad?" "Yes, my boy, the famousest of the hobbits, and that's saying a lot." 'It's saying a lot too much,' said Frodo, and he laughed, a long clear laugh from his heart. Such a sound had not been heard in those places since Sauron came to Middle-earth. To Sam suddenly it seemed as if all the stones were listening and the tall rocks leaning over them. But Frodo did not heed them; he laughed again. 'Why, Sam,' he said, 'to hear you somehow makes me as merry as if the story was already written. But you've left out one of the chief characters: Samwise the stouthearted. "I want to hear more about Sam, dad. Why didn't they put in more of his talk, dad? That's what I like, it makes me laugh. And Frodo wouldn't have got far without Sam, would he, dad?"' 'Now, Mr. Frodo,' said Sam, 'you shouldn't make fun. I was serious.' 'So was I,' said Frodo, 'and so I am.

His forehead tipped forward, and before I could react, before he said another word to me, he leaned forward, forward, forward and pressed his mouth just to the side of my mouth. A peck. A shot better than tequila, made up of friendship and affection and organic sugar.

I cling to him, wishing I could ease his pain. I wish I could take his burdens and make them mine. "It's weird, isn't it?" he says. "What is?" "If we were naked right now, I'd be dead." "Shut up," I say, laughing against his chest. We're both wearing long sleeves, long pants. As long as my face and hands don't touch his skin, he's perfectly safe. "Well, it's true." "In what alternate universe would I ever be naked with you?" "I am just saying," he says. "Shit happens. You never know." "I think you need a girlfriend." "Nah," he says. "I just need a hug from my friend." I lean back to look at him. Try to read his eyes. "You're my best friend, Kenji. You know that, right?" "Yeah, kid." He grins at me. "I do. And I can't believe I got stuck with your skinny ass.

The exciting isolation of leaning against the wind on the highway hitchhiking, waiting for someone to stop and offer me a lift, perhaps to a town three miles down the road, perhaps to new friendship, perhaps to death.

Julie marched over to Matt. She stood in front of him and crossed her arms. “Lift up your sweatshirt.” Matt rolled his eyes. “God, you really know how to turn a guy on.” Julie didn’t budge. “If I was trying to turn you on, I could do better than that. Now, lift up your sweatshirt.” Matt looked up at her and tried to look serious. “Julie, I’m completely offended that you have so little faith in my honesty. I thought at this point in our friendship that you would at least—” “Get up.” Julie leaned over and shut his laptop. “Get up!” she said again. “You’re being ridiculous,” Matt said laughing, but he stood up. “I trust you implicitly, and it wouldn’t kill you to show me the same respect.” “Show me!” Matt sidestepped the chair and took a few steps backward. “You have quite the attitude today. Suspicious and mean.” Julie took a step forward, causing Matt to continue backing away. “Lift up your shirt.” “Look, I appreciate an aggressive woman, but this is really getting weird.” Julie grabbed his sweatshirt by the waist cuff and lifted it up with one hand, as she pulled down his T-shirt with the other. Matt put his hands over hers, lightly protesting, but she refused to let go. “Aha!” She squinted at his shirt. “OK, I don’t even know what this is, but it’s definitely geeky.

Then he leaned over, right there in the restaurant parking lot, and kissed me. And it wasn’t a friendship kiss, either. It was tender and real, and utterly romantic.

Kengi?" "Yeah?" I take a deep breath. Try to count the stars. "What am I going to do?" "About what?" I hesitate. "About everything." Kenji makes a strange sound. "Shit if I know." "I don't want to do this without you," I whisper. He leans back. "Who said you're going to do anything without me?" My heart skips a few beats. I stare at him. "What?" he asks. Raises his eyebrows. "You're surprised?" "You'll fight with me?" I ask him, hardly breathing. "Fight back with me? Even if it's with Warner?" Kenji smiles. Looks up at the sky. "Hell yeah," he says. "Really?" "I'm here for you, kid. That's what friends are for.

Max." Fang let go of my hand. "Right now, it's really all about—us." He swooped down to the right in a big semicircle, ending facing me. Slowly we climbed upward, until we were almost vertical, flying straight up to the sun. While carefully synchronizing our wings—they almost touched—Fang leaned in, gently put one hand behind my neck, and kissed me. It was just about as close to heaven as I'll ever get, I guess. I closed my eyes, lost in the feeling of flying and kissing and being with the one person in the world I completely, utterly trusted. When we finally broke apart, we looked down at the others, who were way far below us now. Angel was shading her eyes, looking up at us with a big smile. She was sitting on a dolphin's back, and I hoped soon someone would explain to the dolphin that he shouldn't let Angel take advantage of his good nature. Still looking up at us, Angel gave us a big thumbs-up. "She approves," Fang said with a hint of amusement. "Jeez," I wondered aloud. "Is that a good thing or a bad thing?

But he's got your way of making me lean into peace whenever I see red.

Though my hair has grown grey now, and my sight dim, and my heart cold with years, and ennui, and disappointment, and treachery of friends, and yet I have but to lean back in my arm-chair and think, and those sweet figures comes rising up before me out of the past, with their smiles, and their kindnesses, and their bright tender eyes!

I started to seek emotionally present friendships, leaning on the friends who were warm and consistent. This helped me feel supported while I worked on repairing my inner world.

It inspired me to diversify my portfolio of attachments, so to speak, partly so I wouldn't overwhelm any one person with the fire hose of my 'undelivered discourse,' but also to protect myself from leaning to heavily on a buttress that couldn't and shouldn't sustain my full weight.

You smart girls are always the last to figure these things out. Why would a guy like me ask you out if all I wanted was friendship? You may be cute, but you’re not too observant.” “Huh?” I said again. I understood the words coming out of his mouth, but the meaning behind them was a mystery. It was like he was intentionally trying to confuse me. Leaning

Dear old Jane is a jewel,” agreed Anne, “but,” she added, leaning forward to bestow a tender pat on the plump, dimpled little hand hanging over her pillow, “there’s nobody like my own Diana after all. Do you remember that evening we first met, Diana, and ‘swore’ eternal friendship in your garden? We’ve kept that ‘oath,’ I think…we’ve never had a quarrel nor even a coolness. I shall never forget the thrill that went over me the day you told me you loved me. I had had such a lonely, starved heart all through my childhood. I’m just beginning to realize how starved and lonely it really was. Nobody cared anything for me or wanted to be bothered with me. I should have been miserable if it hadn’t been for that strange little dreamlife of mine, wherein I imagined all the friends and love I craved. But when I came to Green Gables everything was changed. And then I met you. You don’t know what your friendship meant to me. I want to thank you here and now, dear, for the warm and true affection you’ve always given me.

I thought he might kiss me as we sat shivering on the bank of the spring with our clothes soaked through and our feet dangling in the steaming water. We looked into each other's eyes the way I'd always imagined people did right before they leaned in closer and touched lips for the first time. But that was all we did. We looked at each other. Into each other. We were still clutching hands.

No one, not even a ‘friend,’ can make us better. But it is a great happiness in life to meet a person of quite different construction, different bent, completely dissimilar views who, while always remaining himself and in no wise echoing us nor currying favor with us (as sometimes happens) and not trying to insinuate his soul (and an insincere soul at that!) into our psyche, into our muddle, into our tangle, would stand as a firm wall, as a check to our follies and our irrationalities, which every human being has. Friendship lies in contradiction and not in agreement! Verily, God granted me Strakhov as a teacher and my friendship with him, my feelings for him were ever a kind of firm wall on which I felt I could always lean, or rather rest. And it won’t let you fall, and it gives warmth

Jack,I've messed up enough of you life.There's nothing you can do about Cole.I'll handle him. You don't have to-" "Enough,Becks.This is what friends do. Before we got together, we were friends, remember? The friendship is still there,isn't it?" I didn't say anything for a moment. It was so much more than friendship on my side. Despite everything,I'd never stopped loving him. "Isn't it,Becks? I mean,you didn't completely forget about me in the Everneath,did you?" "No." Wasn't it obvious on my face? That he was the only thing I remembered? My memories of Jack should've been etched on my skin by now, for all the world to see. "Okay.Friends talk.Friends help each other." I nodded. "Friends don't eat friends' souls." I smiled. "Got it." "Can I ask you something else?" "Of course." "Why did you finally decide to tell me the truth?" I traced my finger along the lip of my coffee mug. "It's probably nothing, but Cole seems anxious to keep me away from you in particular. I wanted to see how he'd react, and maybe that would give me an idea as to why." He grimaced. "I have an idea." "What?" "He's in love with you." I wrinkled my forehead. "No he's not. He's not capable." Jack leaned forward. "Trust me, Becks. I know exactly what loving you looks like on a person.And he loves you." My face went warm and I looked away. If only Jack were talking about now,and not before. I shook my head. "There has to be something more to it." Jack put his chin on the palm of his hand. "Well,let's find out." "How?" Jack raised his eyes to meet mine, a shy little smile on his face, so different from his usual confident grin. "We'll spend time together. And let Cole know it.

Ren, that was very beautiful.” His eyes turned to my face. He smiled and reached a hand up to touch my cheek. My pulse quickened, and my face felt hot where he touched it. I became suddenly away that my fingers were still twined in his hair, and my hand was resting on his chest. I quickly removed them and twisted them in my lap. He sat up slightly, leaning on one hand, which brought his beautiful face very close to mine. His fingers moved down to my chin and, with the lightest touch, he tilted my face so that my eyes met his intense blue ones. “Kelsey?” “Yes?” I whispered. “I would like permission…to kiss you.” Whoa. Red alert! The comfortable feeling I was enjoying with my tiger just a few minutes before had disappeared. I became acutely nervous and prickly. My perspective swung 180 degrees. I was, of course, aware that a man’s heart beat inside the tiger’s body, but, somehow, I’d shifted that knowledge to the back of my mind. Awareness of the prince burst into my conscious mind. I stared at him, astonished. He was, well, to be blunt, he was out of my league. I’d never even considered the possibility of a relationship with him, other than friendship. His question forced me to acknowledge that my comfortable pet tiger was actually a virile, robust example of masculinity. My heart started hammering against my ribcage. Several thoughts went through my head all at once, but the dominant thought was that I would very much like to be kissed by Ren. Other thoughts were creeping around at the edge of my consciousness too, trying to wiggle into the forefront. Thoughts like-it’s too soon-we barely know each other-and maybe he’s just lonely-spun through my mind. But, I clipped the threads of those thoughts and let them blow away. Stomping down on caution, I decided that I did want him to kiss me.

Feeling drunk with the anticipation of being alone in the elevator with the blonde seductress, Jack turned back and flashed a wicked grin at Todd before disappearing down the hall. "I’m Shala. I was also hoping we'd have a private moment together, before your adventure begins.” She spoke softly and slipped her hand into the crook of Jack's arm. "Shala, you read my mind," Jack replied as they reached the elevator. "After Dr. Strong and I talk, how about you show me the sights of Landon." "The most exciting thing in Landon is in my suite.” Shala whispered and leaned hard against him, forcing his back to the wall. Shala’s hands explored Jacks chest then moved to his sides and round to his back sinking lower. Her fiery smile sent an unexpected chill through him. Jack squirmed uncomfortably as he glanced up at the panel above the elevator doors. The second floor indicator lit and held. The doors silently slid aside to reveal a large banquet hall just as Shala's hands reached a sensitive spot.

Yeah, he is. It's not that I thought it would ruin our friendship or anything. It was just the initial reaction that scared me. I knew he'd be okay with it eventually." "How did he react?" He chuckled. "He asked if I thought gay dudes would think he was hot. I told him yes and he high-fived me. That was that.

They call each other ‘E.’ Elvis picks wildflowers near the river and brings them to Emily. She explains half-rhymes to him. In heaven Emily wears her hair long, sports Levis and western blouses with rhinestones. Elvis is lean again, wears baggy trousers and T-shirts, a letterman’s jacket from Tupelo High. They take long walks and often hold hands. She prefers they remain just friends. Forever. Emily’s poems now contain naugahyde, Cadillacs, Electricity, jets, TV, Little Richard and Richard Nixon. The rock-a-billy rhythm makes her smile. Elvis likes himself with style. This afternoon he will play guitar and sing “I Taste A Liquor Never Brewed” to the tune of “Love Me Tender.” Emily will clap and harmonize. Alone in their cabins later, they’ll listen to the river and nap. They will not think of Amherst or Las Vegas. They know why God made them roommates. It’s because America was their hometown. It’s because God is a thing without feathers. It’s because God wears blue suede shoes.

Why the difference? We are one! Yes, we are one! We are one because we breathe the same air no matter where we go! Just as the fingers lean on the same hand for survival, so are we! God knew why He created the fingers with spaces! We are one! Let us not harm ourselves just because you don’t understand me and I don’t understand you! Let us miss misunderstanding, and we shall surely see that understanding! We are one! Just as the fingers come together to feed the same stomach that gives the hand they all stand on strength, so are we! When it is time for work, some of the fingers are very active and some stay dormant, but they all receive the same nutrient from the body! When it is time for thumbs-up, the thumb rises for the approval and glory and all other fingers come together in support of it! All the fingers have their own unique function that is vital for the good functioning of the hand! Let one finger get hurt, and you shall see how the others would never be comfortable! We are separated for a purpose, and we are one for a purpose! The glory of the thick forest is not in how the trees stand alone when you have a closer view, but how it looks so beautiful like a canopy from a distance! The difference is in how we see it! The difference is in how we understand it! Hello, we are one! The love of God is for all!

We were all grinning and everyone had their eyes open for once. Ian must have been moving - his hand was blurred. It was exactly how I imagined us, right down to Kieran's arm around me and the peace sign he was making above Matty's head. The big carving was behind us, and the other trees leaned into the picture, like giant people. Then a cloud went over the sun and Ian said he had better get going. I wished we had taken five pictures so that we could all have a copy. When I looked at the image again, the colours had already started to fade, as if it was a moment we could never have back.

Listen, new friend that I didn't particularly ask for, I appreciate you bringing my license back." I motion towards the door, but he leans back and throws his leg over his knee. "Really, I do but--" Eli cuts me off. "You're not going to eat?" "No, I'm definitely going to eat, but you're definitely not staying." "You can't share some pizza with me? I mean, isn't that what friends do and all? They break bread, have some fun, talk, hook up a little?" He wags his eyebrows with a grin. I shake my head and sigh. "No hooking up with, and while I love the idea of our newfound friendship, it's been a really long day. I was planning on heading to bed." "We can do that too." He takes another bite as if he didn't offer to sleep with me again.

It is for that moment when I might steady you so you don’t fall, I have added my blood to an inkwell. Indelible now will be my mark on history’s canvas and upon any sincere debate of God where reason finally prevails. And when you have the strength, you too may find another to hold up. They lean against each other in a storm, those cypresses grown tall together…through the years. If they had not trusted and protected one another the way they do, they would not have survived and given us their grace and shade—a place for our eyes to meet. Our friendship can be like this: a needed lift, a sail, a pillar, a springboard to taste the unfathomable. It is to tend you as you come into being, like a new world, that causes me to stay, gives me a purpose. Of course I thank you for that…for letting me help.

The Bargainer is prowling up my bed—and up me while he’s at it. I can’t breathe. I legit don’t think I can breathe. The dangerous look in his eyes shuts down all coherent thought. This might be the moment when our relationship goes from a strange sort of friendship to something more. I’m so frightened of that possibility. I’m so eager for it. He straddles my waist, his powerful, leather-clad thighs trapping me between him. Leaning down, he takes my hand, the one that isn’t wearing the bracelet. My heart’s going to escape my chest. It’s galloping away like crazy. I’ve never been this close to Des. And now I’m pretty sure I’m never going to be satisfied until it’s natural to be this close with him. My skin begins to glow, and Des is kind enough to ignore the fact that I’m pretty much turned way the hell on.

People, in all sorts and kinds.. They always want something from you. Whether it's lust, money, love or even friendship. Whether they need a listening ear of a shoulder to lean on. Most of the time people just want other people because of their loneliness. They don't even look at what you have to offer, or what you truly need. All people seem to care about is having someone who consumes their time. Someone who looks good on 'em. I mean, who even cares about personality nowadays? Man, as long as you're pretty they will jump right on your ass. And that to me, is the ugliest thing in human kinds. The selfishness, the greed. Sure, everyone lives for their own longings. But oh how beautiful it would be to find someone who asks for nothing but your well-being, it's so god damn rare these days. I just wish to find people who live for happiness within themselves and others. Even if that means being alone. Solitude is the most beautiful thing in life, embrace it.

Matthew closed the door and turned toward her. He seemed very large in the small room, his broad frame dwarfing their civilized surroundings. Daisy’s mouth went dry as she stared at him. She wanted to be close to him… she wanted to feel all his skin against hers. “What is there between you and Llandrindon?” he demanded. “Nothing. Only friendship. On my side, that is.” “And on his side?” “I suspect— well, he seemed to indicate that he would not be averse to— you know.” “Yes, I know,” he said thickly. “And even though I can’t stand the bastard, I also can’t blame him for wanting you. Not after the way you’ve teased and tempted him all week.” “If you’re trying to imply that I’ve been acting like some femme fatale—” “Don’t try to deny it. I saw the way you flirted with him. The way you leaned close when you talked… the smiles, the provocative dresses…” “Provocative dresses?” Daisy asked in bemusement. “Like that one.” Daisy looked down at her demure white gown, which covered her entire chest and most of her arms. A nun couldn’t have found fault with it. She glanced at him sardonically. “I’ve been trying for days to make you jealous. You would have saved me a lot of effort if you’d just admitted it straight off.” “You were deliberately trying to make me jealous?” he exploded. “What in God’s name did you think that would accomplish? Or is turning me inside out your latest idea of an entertaining hobby?” A sudden blush covered her face. “I thought you might feel something for me… and I hoped to make you admit it.” Matthew’s mouth opened and closed, but he couldn’t seem to speak. Daisy wondered uneasily what emotion was working on him. After a few moments he shook his head and leaned against the dresser as if he needed physical support. “Are you angry?” she asked apprehensively. His voice sounded odd and ragged. “Ten percent of me is angry.” “What about the other ninety percent?” “That part is just a hairsbreadth away from throwing you on that bed and—” Matthew broke off and swallowed hard. “Daisy, you’re too damned innocent to understand the danger you’re in. It’s taking all the self-control I’ve got to keep my hands off you. Don’t play games with me, sweetheart. It’s too easy for you to torture me, and I’m at my limit. To put to rest any doubts you might have… I’m jealous of every man who comes within ten feet of you. I’m jealous of the clothes on your skin and the air you breathe. I’m jealous of every moment you spend out of my sight.” Stunned, Daisy whispered, “You… you certainly haven’t shown any sign of it.” “Over the years I’ve collected a thousand memories of you, every glimpse, every word you’ve ever said to me. All those visits to your family’s home, those dinners and holidays— I could hardly wait to walk through the front door and see you.” The corners of his mouth quirked with reminiscent amusement. “You, in the middle of that brash, bull-headed lot… I love watching you deal with your family. You’ve always been everything I thought a woman should be. And I have wanted you every second of my life since we first met.

She was interviewing one of my favorite television actors, Don Johnson of Miami Vice. As he reclined on a couch in his lovely home, Don told Barbara about the joys and difficulties in his life. He talked of past struggles with drug and alcohol abuse and work addiction. Then he spoke of his relationships with women—how exciting and attractive he found them. I could see his energy rise and his breath quicken as he spoke. An air of intoxication seemed to fill the room. Don said his problem was he liked women too much and found it hard to be with one special partner over a long period. He would develop a deep friendship and intimacy, but then his eyes would wander. I thought to myself, this man has been sexually abused! His problems sounded identical to those of adult survivors I counsel in my practice. But then I reconsidered: Maybe I’ve been working too hard. Perhaps I’m imagining a sexual abuse history that isn’t really there. Then it happened. Barbara leaned forward and, with a smile, asked, “Don, is it true that you had your first sexual relationship when you were quite young, about twelve years old, with your seventeen-year-old baby-sitter?” My jaw dropped. Don grinned back at Barbara. He cocked his head to the side; a twinkle came into his blue eyes. “Yeah,” he said, “and I still get excited just thinking about her today.” Barbara showed no alarm. The next day I wrote Barbara Walters a letter, hoping to enlighten her about the sexual abuse of boys. Had Don been a twelve-year-old girl and the baby-sitter a seventeen-year-old boy, we wouldn’t hesitate to call what had happened rape. It would make no difference how cooperative or seemingly “willing” the victim had been. The sexual contact was exploitive and premature, and would have been whether the twelve-year-old was a boy or a girl. This past experience and perhaps others like it may very well be at the root of the troubles Don Johnson has had with long-term intimacy. Don wasn’t “lucky to get a piece of it early,” as some people might think. He was sexually abused and hadn’t yet realized it.   Acknowledging past sexual abuse is an important step in sexual healing. It helps us make a connection between our present sexual issues and their original source. Some survivors have little difficulty with this step: They already see themselves as survivors and their sexual issues as having stemmed directly from sexual abuse. A woman who is raped sees an obvious connection if she suddenly goes from having a pleasurable sex life to being terrified of sex. For many survivors, however, acknowledging sexual abuse is a difficult step. We may recall events, but through lack of understanding about sexual abuse may never have labeled those experiences as sexual abuse. We may have dismissed experiences we had as insignificant. We may have little or no memory of past abuse. And we may have difficulty fully acknowledging to ourselves and to others that we were victims. It took me years to realize and admit that I had been raped on a date, even though I knew what had happened and how I felt about it. I needed to understand this was in fact rape and that I had been a victim. I needed to remember more and to stop blaming myself before I was able to acknowledge my experience as sexual abuse.

Dear Windowpane, Aren’t you lucky? The sun rays of faith beam on you. How does it feel? Is it enlightenment? Do you feel free, loved, or suffocated? I admire you and envy you at the same time. I admire you because you have the ability to freely open up and let go. I am jealous of you because you have the ability to feel the warm embrace. You get to travel to different places. I know I might be thinking silly, but Windowpane, do you endure a lot of people’s pain? I mean—because many people lean on you, and I am sure you feel their energy, or maybe they tell you their problems. How do you handle all of that? Do you wait for the rain to come; therefore, you can wash off everyone’s problems and create new ones? It seems like you would be filled with clarity because, after all, everyone can see right through you. With that being said, you do not have anything to hide. What is so amazing about you—is that you remind me of water. I can see right through you, and I can see my reflection too. Now that is pretty cool. However, it is a Catch-22 as well. Now, I see you do not carry other people’s problems. You let us look at our reflections and go within to seek the answers we are searching for. Aww, you are something else. I want to give you some advice. Although I love your strategy, make sure that the person who is resting their head on you doesn’t quiet their mind too much. If so, their quiet mind might be filled with too much noise. We do not want that. Here’s a little secret, if a person starts thinking too long, then they are thinking wrong. Keep that in mind. Well, I love the scenery, and I enjoyed the talk. Best of luck to you.

I’m wondering what it would be like to be kissed by you.” “Let’s not go there,” he said. “I don’t want to mess up our friendship.” “It wouldn’t,” she said, grinning suddenly. “I’d like to know how it feels. I mean, as an experiment.” “Put the wrong chemicals together, and they explode.” She frowned. “Are you saying you don’t think I’d like it? Or that I would?” “It doesn’t matter, because I’m not going to kiss you.” She looked up at him shyly, from beneath lowered lashes, and gave him a cajoling smile. “Just one teeny, weeny little kiss?” He laughed at her antics. Inside his stomach, about a million butterflies had taken flight. “Don’t play games with me, Summer.” He said it with a smile, but it was a warning. One she ignored. She crooked her finger and wiggled it, gesturing him toward her. “Come here, and give me a little kiss.” She was doing something sultry with her eyes, something she’d never done before. She’d turned on some kind of feminine heat, because he was burning up just looking at her. “Stop this,” he said in a guttural voice. She canted her hip and put her hand on it, drawing his attention in that direction, then slid her tongue along the seam of her lips to wet them. “I’m ready, bad boy. What are you waiting for?” His heart was beating a hundred miles a minute. He was hot and hard and ready. And if he touched her, he was going to ruin everything. “I’m not going to kiss you, Summer.” He saw the disappointment flash in her eyes. Saw the determination replace it. “All right. I’ll kiss you.” He could have stopped her. He was the one with the powerful arms and the broad chest and the long, strong legs. But he wanted that kiss. “Fine,” he said. “Don’t expect fireworks. I’m only doing this because we’re friends.” And if she believed that, he had some desert brushland he could sell her. Suddenly, she seemed uncertain, and he felt a pang of loss. Silly to feel it so deeply, when kissing Summer had been the last thing he’d allowed himself to dream about. Although, to be honest, he hadn’t always been able to control his dreams. She’d been there, all right. Hot and wet and willing. He made himself smile at her. “Don’t worry, kid. It was a bad idea. To be honest, I value our friendship too much—” She threw herself into his arms, clutching him around the neck, so he had to catch her or get bowled over. “Whoa, there,” he said, laughing and hugging her with her feet dangling in the air. “It doesn’t matter that you’ve changed your mind about wanting that kiss. I’m just glad to be your friend.” She leaned back in his embrace, searching his eyes, looking for something. Before he could do or say anything to stop her, she pressed her lips softly against his. His whole body went rigid. “Billy,” she murmured against his lips. “Please. Kiss me back.” “Summer, I don’t—” She pressed her lips against his again, damp and pliant and inviting. He softened his mouth against hers, felt the plumpness of her upper lip, felt the open, inviting seam, and let his tongue slide along the length of it. “Oh.” She broke the kiss and stared at him with dazed eyes. Eyes that sought reason where there was none. He wanted to rage at her for ruining everything. They could never be friends now. Not now that he’d tasted her, not now that she’d felt his want and his need. He lowered his head to take her mouth, to take what he’d always wanted.

She's my mother. How do you say no to family?" Marie gets a dark look on her face. "There's a difference between relatives and family. You can be related to someone; that is an accident of genetics. Relatives are pure biology. But family is action. Family is attitude. That woman..." Marie's voice drips with venom. "Is NOT your family. WE are your family. That woman is just your relative." Hedy's mouth drops, and Caroline's eyes fly open so wide I think they might get stuck. "Don't hold back there, Marie," Hedy says, finding her voice. "I'm sorry, but..." Marie's eyes fill with tears. "Oh no!" Caroline leans over and takes Marie's hand. Marie shakes it off. "I hate her. I hate that she had the best daughter on the planet and never appreciated her and wasn't ever there for her and never once did anything for her. You guys don't know. She was the most self-absorbed narcissistic cold person..." "She gave me Joe." "But..." she says. I raise my hand. "She. Gave. Me. JOE. Whatever other bullshit happened, the most important thing in my life growing up was Joe. He made me who I am, he helped me find my calling, he was a gift, and everything else is just beyond my ability to get upset about." "You could get a little upset," Caroline says. "It takes nothing away from Joe, and how important he was to you, to acknowledge that your mother failed you in almost every way," Hedy says. "I think you should tell her to go fuck herself," Marie says, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms like a petulant child. I don't know that I've ever seen her so furious. "You guys don't get it, I was THERE. I MET HER. Wanna know how she screws in a lightbulb? Holds it up in the air and lets the universe just revolve around her." This makes the three of us bust out laughing. "Oh, Marie, I love you. Thank you for being so on my side." It does mean the world to me that my oldest friend is so protective.

Financial freedom is important. MONEY IS GOOD. There is no doubt about it. I have NO quarrel with things, with new cars (that smell so good!) or spacious houses. I believe in success, prosperity and abundance: it is what The Creator wants for everyone: part of our legitimate aspirations for a better life and a great help to fulfill our purpose. Fat cows are better than skinny cows. I have been through fat cows, SO FAT they seemed to be on hormones; but have also experienced the lean cows, the scrawny and ugly ones! Worst, there was a time in my life when THERE WERE NO COWS!!! Times so bad that I became like a cow myself… Unable to think, just brooding and waiting for miracles! So, believe me, I know and understand the importance of money.,. However, to forget the real WHY’s and WHAT FOR’s of money, is a dangerous business... The real problem, the terrible thing, is that too many are willing to do whatever it takes, even if they harm others, to find the dollar, to get the money, to obtain the cash… Orison Swett Marden, father of personal motivation in the nineteenth century, masterfully warned us: Often what is called success is failure. When men love money so much, that they sacrifice their friendships, their family, their home life; sacrifice position, honor, health, everything for the dollar, their life is a failure, although they may have accumulated money. In other words, SUCCESS IS NOT how much money you have in the bank, with little care for anything else. “The greatest success, in the end, is to live a good life”, said Jim Rohn. Just to accumulate things does not get you a happy and fulfilled life… Those things come from living a balanced life.

Stop complainin.” Jess climbed up to the cab and leaned down to pull me up beside him. “I’m not complaining.” His fingers clung to my wrists as the soles on my gray, canvas shoes slipped up the worn steps. “It’s hot. I’m sweatin’. I don’t want to go campin’,” his voiced pitched high to mock me.

My eyes roved over each and every one of the horses, approximating their age and probably stage in training, assessing their form and temperament and noting their reproductive potential. Eventually it dawned on me that silence had fallen. I turned toward Grayden to offer some excuse, but to my surprise, he was gazing at me with affection and sympathy in his green eyes. He smiled and produced a small box, which he extended to me. “What’s this?” I asked, thoroughly confused. He shrugged. “A token of friendship. I would be honored if you would accept it.” Curiously, I took the box from his hand. Anticipating jewelry, I prepared for a show of fake enthusiasm. Such a gift would be a sweet gesture, and undoubtedly beautiful, but I was not one for baubles. The box did contain jewelry, but not of the type I supposed. On a lovely chain of gold hung a small, golden horse, head high, legs outstretched in a gallop. I looked at Grayden, stupefied, although I didn’t need to feign my pleasure. “As I said, your uncle told me of your love for horses,” he explained almost shyly. “That it was a love you shared with your father.” “But I…I don’t understand. What are you…?” Seeing how flustered I was, he reached out and took my hand. “I’m not asking for anything, Shaselle. I just…I think you’re used to being seen as a problem. Maybe it’s presumptuous of me to say that, but your family apologized for so many things about you that I can’t help drawing the conclusion.” Not sure how to react, I opted to remain silent. “I think you’re only a problem for those people who are trying to turn you into something you’re not.” “A lady?” I wryly suggested, regaining my sense of humor. I leaned back on the fence, certain he would agree. “No,” he said, and there was conviction in his voice. “They need to stop trying to turn a free spirit into a traditional wife.” I couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. Could he truly believe what he was saying? Men played games to placate women. But I knew of no man other than my father who would enjoy seeing a horse pendant around the neck of the woman he was courting. “I do have a question for you,” Grayden said, leaning against the fence next to me. He hesitated, obviously uncertain about where our relationship stood. “The Harvest Festical is approaching. If you have no other plans to attend, would you consider accompanying me?” My eyes again filled with tears. There was no good reason--why should I be breaking down now, when Grayden was being so understanding, so tolerant of my eccentricities? “Come,” he said softly. “I’ll take you back to your cousin.” I let him escort me into the house, feeling like an ungrateful fool. I hadn’t even thanked him for his gift, and I desperately wanted to do so. But I couldn’t conjure the words to convey how I was feeling, and so I murmured farewell at the door.

She says ye never left me side?”she asked. He felt his cheeks grow warm. Clearing his throat once, he finally answered. “Aye.” “Why?”she asked. Why? For the past four days, he’d imagined everything he would say to her as soon as he found her. Her illness delayed the heartfelt words he had wanted to have with her. Now, when the moment finally arrived, his mind turned blank. All the sweet words he’d planned to tell her fled on the wings of a frantically beating heart. “Ye came fer me,”she whispered. “Ye came fer me and ye killed Helmert. And ye never left me side.”Her voice was filled with disbelief. “Why?” He stammered for a moment, tripping over his own tongue. “I,”he paused, searching for the right words, the words he hoped would not terrify her. “Ye be a fine woman, Laurin. I’ve grown quite fond of ye these past weeks.” She studied him closely for a moment. “So fond of me that ye were willin’to risk yer life to save mine?”Her tone said his answer made little sense. “Aye,”he whispered. Suddenly his mouth felt dry, his tongue thick. “Fond enough to risk my own life for yours.” “Fond, like ye’d be fond of a dear friend, or somethin’more?” He could not understand why she asked that particular question. Refusing to read anything into her question, he replied. “Somethin’more, lass. Far more than friendship.” Tears welled in her eyes as she stared at him. It made his gut wrench, thinking he’d brought her a moment of discomfort or sorrow. Leaning over, he took her hand in his. “Laurin, I ken ye do no’have the same feelin’s for me as I do for ye. I ken ye may never have them, but it matters no’to me. I would be willin’to wait an entire lifetime on nothin’more than a wish and a prayer, in case, just in case some day ye might be able to return those feelins.” He’d not pressure her into anything, would not beg her for her hand or her heart. “How can ye say that?”she asked, swiping away an errant tear. “How could ye wait a lifetime for me?” With a slow shake of his head, he smiled. “Och! Lass, ye’d be well worth the wait.

When we reached the street that branched off into the western section of the city, I expected Saadi to conintue north, but he did not. We dismounted and walked side by side, leading our horses, until my house came into view. “You should leave,” I said to him, hoping I didn’t sound rude. “Let me help you take King to your stable.” I hesitated, unsure of the idea, then motioned for him to follow me as I cut across the property to approach the barn from the rear. After putting King in his private stall at the back of the building, sectioned off from the mares, I lit a lantern and grabbed a bucket. While Saadi watched me from the open door of the building, I went to the well to fill it. “You should really go now,” I murmured upon my return, not wanting anyone to see us or the light. He nodded and hung the lantern on its hook, but he did not leave. Instead, he took the bucket from me, placing it in King’s stall, and I noticed he had tossed in some hay. Brushing off his hands, he approached me. “Tell your family I returned the horse to your care, that our stable master found him too unruly and disruptive to serve us other than to sire an occasional foal.” “Yes, I will,” I mumbled, grateful for the lie he had provided. I had been so focused on recovering the stallion that explaining his reappearance had not yet entered my mind. Then an image of Rava, standing outside the barn tapping the scroll against her palm, surfaced. What was to prevent her return? “And your sister? What will you tell her?” He smirked. “You seem to think Rava is in charge of everything. Well, she’s not in charge of our stables. And our stable master will be content as long as we can still use the stallion for breeding. As for Rava, keep the horse out of sight and she’ll likely never know he’s back in your hands.” “But what if you’re wrong and she does find out?” “Then I’ll tell her that I have been currying a friendship with you. That you have unwittingly become an informant. That the return of the stallion, while retaining Cokyrian breeding rights, furthered that goal.” I gaped at him, for his words flowed so easily, I wondered if there was truth behind them. “And is that what this is really all about?” I studied his blue eyes, almost afraid of what they might reveal. But they were remarkably sincere when he addressed the question. “In a way, I suppose, for I am learning much from you.” He smiled and reached out to push my hair back from my face. “But it is not the sort of information that would be of interest to Rava.” His hand caressed my cheek, and he slowly leaned toward me until his lips met mine. I moved my mouth against his, following his lead, and a tingle went down my spine. With my knees threatening to buckle, I put my hands on his chest for balance, feeling his heart beating beneath my palms. Then he was gone. I stood dumbfounded, not knowing what to do, then traced my still-moist lips, the taste of him lingering. This was the first time I’d been kissed, and the experience, I could not deny, had been a good one. I no longer cared that Saadi was Cokyrian, for my feelings on the matter were clear. I’d kiss him again if given the chance.

Eat," she said, shoving his bowl closer as she passed him. "You're going to need your energy." "For what?" He took a big bite and rolled his eyes in bliss. "You've really gotten so good at this lean stuff." She gathered her internal strength, vision blurring. "Packing and getting the hell out of here." He shook his head, chewing. "I don't have to leave right away," he said with a mouthful. "Oh yes, you do." Seeing how much he was enjoying her food enraged her. It was probably more accurate to say it pulled the pin on the anger that was already tightening deep beneath her disbelief, but whatever caused it, she found herself unable to fight it. "In fact, you've got three seconds to eat whatever else you're going to eat there before you're wearing it." He looked genuinely shocked. "Margo, this isn't like you!" "Correction: this isn't like Margo your wife." The flames of fury engulfed her. She couldn't believe this was happening, and that it was happening so... so casually. "Let me introduce you to Margo your ex-wife." "Can't we be friends?" The idea that they could suddenly shift baffled her violently. "No." She picked up the bowl and dumped the whole thing in his lap, careful to make sure the oily dressing saturated his shirt. She looked him over and clicked her tongue against her teeth. "Get yourself cleaned up, Calvin, honestly, you're a mess. Oh, and you have half an hour to pack what you want and get out. If you don't, I'll call the police. I don't know if they'll be able to enforce anything, but I do know that will embarrass you to death, and if there's one thing you hate, it's being embarrassed.

With one minute to spare, Madison arrived at the Space Needle. Her rose was hastily clipped into her short dark hair. Her cheeks were red from all of the mad rushing around. But she had made it on time. So had Jeremy. Once again he was waiting by the elevator that rode up to the top of the Space Needle. A somewhat faded blue carnation was pinned to the lapel of his jacket. Madison, who usually overplanned everything, hadn’t taken one second to plan what she would say when she finally met “Blue” face-to-face. A man with a bouquet of balloons passed by, and she ducked out of sight behind them. As she ran alongside the vendor, she hastily tried to collect her thoughts. So much was riding on this meeting, and she didn’t want to blow it. When the balloon man got close to the elevator tower, Madison jumped out from behind the balloons and hid by a corner of the tower. Her mind was still a complete blank. But she couldn’t leave Jeremy standing there for another minute. So she inched her way along the wall until she was safely hidden behind the post he was leaning against. Madison checked the TechnoMarine watch she’d borrowed from Piper. It was nearly five minutes after four. Time was running out! She had to say something. But what? Barely a foot away, she heard Jeremy exhale in frustration, and her heart sank. When he made a move to leave, her hand shot out from behind the pillar and caught hold of his. “Blue?” she whispered. “Please don’t turn around.” Jeremy didn’t move. “Okay,” he said warily. “I’m trying to find the words to tell you what our letters have meant to me,” she whispered. “And how much your friendship means to me.” Jeremy nodded. “It’s been important to me, too.” He started to turn around, but Madison tugged his arm, hard. “Don’t look, yet. Please!” Jeremy quickly turned his head away. “All right, but--” Madison didn’t let him finish. She squeezed her eyes shut and started babbling. “I didn’t know who you were until last Friday--which, incidentally, turned out to be about the most important day of my life. And when I knew it was you, I just didn’t know how to tell you that I was me. You once told me I was cold and heartless, and I just couldn’t bear it if you said it again. Everything has been so perfect, I just don’t want to blow it, and now that we’re standing here holding hands, I don’t want to let go--” “So don’t,” a voice whispered, very close to her cheek.

The Bridges of Marin County harbor views back east never so panoramic but here driving the folds of mt tamalpais the whole picture smooth blue of the bay set like a table for dinner guests who seat themselves in berkeley oakland and san jose pass around delicate dishes of angel island ferry boats and alcatraz i'll save a spot for you in san francisco spread with your favorite dishes don't leave me hanging in marin dinner at eight and everyone else on time you said you'd bring the wine we waited as long as we could the food went cold witnesses said that you stood nearly an hour i imagine you crossing back and forth leaning tower to tower finally choosing the southern your wish to rest nearer the city than the driveway how long had you been letting your two selves push each other over the edge stuffing your pockets with secrets and shame weighing yourself down with cement shoes a gangster assuring your own silence i pay the toll daily wondering as the dark shroud of the bay smoothed over you that night who did you think your quiet splash was saving were you keeping yourself from the pleasures you found in the city boys in dark bars handsome men who loved you did they love you too did you wrestle with vertigo lose your sense of balance imagine yourself icarus dizzied by your own precarious perch glorious ride on flawed wings was it so impossible to live and love on both sides of the bay did you think i couldn't feel your love when it was there for me your distraction when desires divided history like the water smoothes over with half-truth story of good job and grieving widow but each time i cross this span i wonder about the men with whom i share the loss of you invisibly i sit unseen in a castro cafe wondering which men gave you what kinds of comfort delight satisfaction these men of leather metal tattoos did you know them how did you get their attention how did they get yours did you walk hand-in-hand with a man who looked like you the marlboro man double exposed did you bury a love of bondage dominance submission in the bay did you find friendship too would you and i have found the same men handsome where are you in this cafe crowd i want to love what you wouldn't show me dance with more than a slice of truth hold your halves together in my arms and rock the till i have mourned and honored the whole of you was it so impossible to cross that divide to live and love on both sides of the bay hey isn't that what bridges are for

And I have blown like the wind, yes? Angry because you sleep away from me?” “No. But I know you have every right.” “So you wait for my anger, and it does not come.” He turned her in his arms and raised her chin so he could look into her eyes. “And the fear grows, until it is big like a buffalo?” “Yes,” she admitted in a quavery little voice. Hunter sighed and pressed his cheek against the top of her head. “Ah, little one, I am sure enough a stupid man. We must make talk, yes? It was my wish to make your fear small, not big. To become your good friend, not your enemy.” “Oh, Hunter, I wish we could be friends again. Remember our journey to my wooden walls? Sometimes--I think about those times, and--” She broke off and gave an exasperated groan. “I felt so close to you then, and I was so sad to say good-bye.” “And now your heart does not sing friendship for me?” “You’re my husband.” “I wish to be your friend.” He leaned back to see her face. “Can I not be both? You have stolen my heart from me, Blue Eyes.” “Oh, Hunter…” “You will be my friend again?” he asked huskily. “We will make laughter together, yes? And you will lie beside me when we sleep, with no fear, because my hand upon you is the hand of your good friend.” “I’d like to be friends again--truly I would.” “Then it will be so.” He nuzzled her ear.

It was my wish to make your fear small, not big. To become your good friend, not your enemy.” “Oh, Hunter, I wish we could be friends again. Remember our journey to my wooden walls? Sometimes--I think about those times, and--” She broke off and gave an exasperated groan. “I felt so close to you then, and I was so sad to say good-bye.” “And now your heart does not sing friendship for me?” “You’re my husband.” “I wish to be your friend.” He leaned back to see her face. “Can I not be both? You have stolen my heart from me, Blue Eyes.

It was my wish to make your fear small, not big. To become your good friend, not your enemy.” “Oh, Hunter, I wish we could be friends again. Remember our journey to my wooden walls? Sometimes--I think about those times, and--” She broke off and gave an exasperated groan. “I felt so close to you then, and I was so sad to say good-bye.” “And now your heart does not sing friendship for me?” “You’re my husband.” “I wish to be your friend.” He leaned back to see her face. “Can I not be both? You have stolen my heart from me, Blue Eyes.” “Oh, Hunter…” “You will be my friend again?” he asked huskily. “We will make laughter together, yes? And you will lie beside me when we sleep, with no fear, because my hand upon you is the hand of your good friend.” “I’d like to be friends again--truly I would.” “Then it will be so.” He nuzzled her ear. “But Hunter, don’t you see? We’re married.” “Ah, yes, married.” Hunter’s mind circled the word, trying to imagine what images it conjured for her. “And good friends, yes? Trust. This last time. My hand upon you has brought pain?” “No,” she whispered hoarsely. “I have beaten you?” “No.” She pressed closer to him and encircled his neck with her arms. “Oh, Hunter, what must you think of me?” “I think there is big fear inside you.

Well, I guess this is it.” “For this little bit time.” She looked up. “Hunter, you mustn’t--” He leaned toward her and crossed her lips with a finger. “You can read my trail, eh? You can walk in my footsteps and come to me. I will leave you signs.” With a nod, Loretta slid off the horse and stretched the reins out to him. Instead of taking them, he dismounted and walked around his horse to stand with her. She tipped her head back, trying her best to smile. His song had nothing to do with her. Why couldn’t he understand that? “Thank you for bringing me home. My heart will sing a song of friendship when I think of you, Hunter--for always into the horizon.” He gestured toward the stallion. “You will take him. He is strong and swift. He will carry you back to Comanche land, eh?” “Oh, no! I couldn’t. He’s yours!” “He walks a new way now. You are his good friend.” Tears sprang to her eyes. “I will never return to Comancheria, Hunter. Please, keep your horse.” “You keep. He is my gift to you, Blue Eyes.

Thank you for bringing me home. My heart will sing a song of friendship when I think of you, Hunter--for always into the horizon.” He gestured toward the stallion. “You will take him. He is strong and swift. He will carry you back to Comanche land, eh?” “Oh, no! I couldn’t. He’s yours!” “He walks a new way now. You are his good friend.” Tears sprang to her eyes. “I will never return to Comancheria, Hunter. Please, keep your horse.” “You keep. He is my gift to you, Blue Eyes.” Words eluded Loretta. Before she thought it through, she rose on her tiptoes and pressed her lips against his in what she intended to be a quick kiss of farewell. Hunter had heard of this strange tosi tivo custom called kissing. The thought of two people pressing their open mouths together had always disgusted him. Loretta was a different matter, however. Before she could pull away, he captured her face between his hands and tipped her head back to nibble lightly at her mouth. To learn the taste of her. And to remember. As inexpert as he was, when his mouth touched hers, a wave of heat zigzagged through him, pooling like fire low in his belly. Her lips were soft and full, as sweet as warm penende, honey. She gasped, and when she did, he dipped his tongue past her teeth to taste her moistness, which was even sweeter and made him think of other sweet places he would like to taste. Hunter at last understood why the tosi tivo liked kissing. She clutched his wrists and leaned away from him. He drew back and smiled, his palms still framing her face. Her large eyes shone as blue as the sky above them, startled and wary, just as they had so many times those first few days. She was like his mother’s beadwork, beautiful on the outside, a confusing tangle on the inside. Would he never understand her? “Good-bye, Hunter.” Reluctantly he released her and watched her lead the horse down the hill. At the base of the slope she turned and looked back. Their gazes met and held. Then she turned toward home and broke into a trot, the horse trailing behind her. Hunter shook his head. Only a White Eyes would walk when she had a perfectly good horse to ride.

Sorry about that. For years, my sister has labored under the impression that she’s funny. My father and I have humored her in this.” Rylann waved this off. “No apology necessary. She’s just protective of you. That’s what siblings do—at least, I assume it is.” “No brothers or sisters for you?” Kyle asked. Rylann shook her head. “My parents had me when they were older. I asked for a sister every birthday until I was thirteen, but it wasn’t in the cards.” She shrugged. “But at least I have Rae.” “When did you two meet?” “College. We were in the same sorority pledge class. Rae is…” Rylann cocked her head, trying to remember. “What’s that phrase men always use when describing their best friend? The thing about the hooker and the hotel room.” “If I ever woke up with a dead hooker in my hotel room, he’d be the first person I’d call. A truer test of male friendship there could not be.” Rylann smiled. “That’s cute. And a little scary, actually, that all you men have planned ahead for such an occasion.” She waved her hand. “Well, there you go. If I ever woke up with a dead hooker in my hotel room, Rae would be the first person I’d call.” Kyle rested his arms on the table and leaned in closer. “Counselor, you’re so by the book, the first person you’d call if you woke up next to a dead hooker would be the FBI.” “Actually, I’d call the cops. Most homicides aren’t federal crimes, so the FBI wouldn’t have jurisdiction.” Kyle laughed. He reached out and tucked back a lock of hair that had fallen into her eyes. “You really are a law geek.” At the same moment, they both realized what he was doing. They froze, eyes locked, his hand practically cupping the side of her cheek. Then they heard someone clearing her throat. Rylann and Kyle turned and saw Jordan standing at their table. “Wine, anyone?” With her blue eyes dancing, she set two glasses in front of them. “I’ll leave you two to yourselves now.” Rylann watched as Jordan strolled off. “I think you’re going to have some explaining to do after I leave,” she whispered to Kyle. “Oh, without a doubt, she’s going to be all up in my business over this.

James had never thought it was possible to feel so lonely in a room full of people he liked. “Jamie?” Ryan said suddenly. “You okay?” “Yeah,” James said, without looking at him. “I just have to go. I remembered something important Dad told me to do.” He felt Tristan’s gaze on him. After bidding everyone goodbyes, James made his way to the door. He wasn’t surprised when Tristan followed him. “Don’t tell him anything,” James said, putting on his jacket. “Please.” Crossing his arms over his chest, Tristan leaned against the wall and eyed him. “You know what?” he said mildly. “You want my opinion?” Did he have a choice? “Shoot.” “Are you really planning to suck it up and suffer in silence all your life, watching him get married and have kids with her? Really? That’s just sad. Walk away or tell him you want him. Worst-case scenario, your friendship becomes strained and dies sooner rather than later. You have nothing to lose.” Tristan sneered. “And don’t kid yourself. You’ll lose him anyway when you eventually get sick of watching him with someone else.” Cocking his head, Tristan said softly, “You already feel it, don’t you? The bitterness, the jealousy, the ugliness.” James swallowed and averted his eyes. He wanted to deny it but couldn’t. He didn’t like the person he was becoming: someone who constantly lied to hide his feelings, someone who put on a smile when he felt like punching people or curling up and crying like a baby. Someone who felt sick and bitter watching the person he loved be happy. Wasn’t love supposed to be selfless? He was better than that. Wasn’t he? Wasn’t he? James looked at Tristan. “Why are you helping me? Why are you so nice all of a sudden?” A faint smile touched Tristan’s face. “I’m not being nice. To be honest, I find it hilarious that you, of all people…” He looked over James’s shoulder, presumably at Zach, and his expression softened and warmed. “But I’m trying to be a better person. It’s still a work in progress, but it’s easier to be a better person when you’re happy.” He looked back at James. “Bitterness and jealousy are my old friends. Trust me, the longer you know them intimately, the uglier it gets. Cut your losses now.” James opened the door and left without saying a word. Outside, a cold gust of November wind blew into his face, biting at his skin and making his eyes water.

There’s something here,” he said, searching her gaze. “Something beneath all the pheromones dancing about whenever we’re within reaching distance of each other. Something beyond this…this crazy hunger.” “I know,” she said in a hushed whisper, the words barely reaching his ears over the sound of the wind and the snap of the sails. He leaned his head down until his forehead brushed hers. “I want both,” he said. “The friendship and the hunger.” Her eyes were luminous pools of the deepest sea green as she looked into his, and he thought he could fall into them and never surface again and die a happy man. “Explore them with me,” he said, “and let’s see where it leads. That’s all I’m asking.

Ryan snorted. “That’s a pretty important thing, don’t you think?” “Actually, no,” James said calmly. “My sexuality doesn’t define me.” Ryan’s expression remained stony. “Bollocks. If you really thought that, you would have said something every time I tried to hook you up with some girl.” A curious gleam appeared in his eyes. “Why now? Why are you telling me now?” James opened his mouth, then closed it. He stared at Ryan, taking in his strong jaw and classically handsome face, his intense emerald green eyes and black unruly hair, the set of his firm lips, his wide shoulders gleaming with drops of water. He wanted so much to lean in, to hide his face in the crook of Ryan’s neck and confess everything. He was tired. He was so damn tired. But of course he couldn’t. That would just make their relationship awkward. Their friendship was too old and strong to be broken by something like that, but it didn’t mean it couldn’t be ruined by the awkwardness of unrequited love. No; he couldn’t tell Ryan anything. Ryan was happy with his girlfriend. It wouldn’t be fair to burden him with this. There was only one thing he could do: he should genuinely try to move on. He should go out and meet people—fall in love with a man who would see him not as a little brother but as someone sexy and lovable.

Here now, what’s this?” he said. “Ye’ll not come to any harm. Ye may despise me, Lady Nerissa, but I’d give me life before I let anythin’ happen to ye.” She wouldn’t look at him. Instead, she walked to the rail and leaned against it, looking out over the sea toward the frigate that was surely coming for her. Quietly, she said, “It’s not my own safety that concerns me.” He joined her, standing close enough that they could converse without their words being overheard. Softly, he asked, “Whose, then?” She just looked pointedly at him, then looked away again, her mouth a tight line. “Ah,” he said, and because her hand was only inches from his own, he reached out and covered it with his own. She did not pull away. Instead, her fingers—slender, soft and colored like the inside of a seashell—wound gently around his. She kept them that way for a long moment, gripping his hand with surprising strength and leaving him to wonder if hers would be the last female touch he ever encountered. One never knew, really, going into battle. “I don’t despise you,” she said. “Despite the fact you abducted me, starved me with the worst food I’ve ever been exposed to, and provided me with no change of clothing, you have been nothing but a gentleman toward me and I would hate to see anything happen to you.” He cocked his head and looked down at her. “What’s this? Have ye come to care about me, lass?” “Certainly not.” She let go of his hand as though his skin had burned her. The moment lay between them, still pulsing with life and bare, raw honesty. His gaze was drawn once more to her hand. A hand whose fingers had just entwined with his in fondness, in friendship, or maybe just in worry. He thought of where he’d like that hand to be. “Ah. Just wonderin’, then.” “Stop wondering, then. I don’t care about you. I just don’t want anything to happen to you.” “I could get blown to bits today, y’know. Won’t be anythin’ left of me for yer brothers to kill. Just think of it, Lady Nerissa! I could die this mornin’, perhaps in your arms… and ye’ll always lament the fact you didn’t tell me you cared about me.” “Would you stop it?” “’ Twould be a lot to lay on yer conscience, now, wouldn’t it?” “Stop!

Let me put this another way, Myzmadra,’ he said. ‘You are alone, destitute and in danger. You are very far from home. The unification of humanity passes people like you by. You are the kind of person who looks in at society from the outside, never part of the group, always ill at ease, because you can see how foolish other people are, how quickly they are duped, how fast they take on beliefs they know to be false in order to construct a comfortable reality for themselves. You know instinctively how much they overestimate their understanding of the world. You sneer at their optimism, because you feel only despair. You laugh at their troubles, for their woes are small and pathetic when set against the unfeeling sweep of time. You condemn them for their friendships, because you see betrayal in every smile.’ He leaned forwards. ‘But what really hurts you, is that you long to be like them, for you know you are no better, that your intelligence might be greater, but ultimately it is as limited as theirs. You know enough to know you know nothing, so you yearn for their society, their delusions and their ignorance. You are tormented, because you understand too much, but comprehend far too little.

Rae changed into her bathrobe too. Over the gap in her bedroom wall, she called out, “What’re you trying to butter me up for?” She was the one who should’ve been cooking an Elle-belle scramblette. “Have I been replaced as maid of honor by Comedian Courtney?” The couple of times Rae had tried to make plans with Ellen recently, Ellen had been out with a woman from work named Courtney, who was apparently “the most hilarious human in the history of humanity.” Rae had mentally tallied the ways in which she was no doubt funnier than Courtney before coming to the conclusion that, given that her core competency was her heart, not her humor, she should lean into her differentiation rather than conforming to the competition’s friendship model. Would Courtney wipe Ellen’s vomit from the toilet seat or put poems on her pillows? Rae didn’t think so. “Maid-of-honor duties are safe,” Ellen said, handing her a plate of Rae-bae scramblette. “It’s just …” “What?” Ellen said the next sentence very quickly, as if it were a single ten-syllable word. “Aaron wants us to move in together.

The dreamer’s world was a secret hideaway for me during the lean, gray years. In the competitive school world, the doer stepped forward as needed and gradually took the helm. But the old dreamer was only dormant, biding his time. Now, as this fellow dreamer spoke of alternate colors for grass, I recognized at once that something of great importance was being granted to me. How little I grasped, at the time, just how great it was.

You left me,” he said tersely, his gaze unwavering on her. She exhaled. “I am sorry. I am sorry for borrowing your ship, and I—” “You left me after the night we shared.” She tried not to think about being in his arms, when he had seemed to love her as much as she loved him. “I told you that morning what I intended. The time we shared didn’t change anything.” She saw him flinch. “It was wonderful, but I meant it when I said I had to go home. I know you are angry. I know I took the coward’s way, and I shouldn’t have conned Mac—” “I don’t care about the ship!” he cried, stunning her. “I am glad you took my frigate—at least you would be safe from rovers. Damn it! I made love to you and you left me!” She hugged herself harder, trying to ignore that painful figure of speech. “I knew you would want to marry me, Cliff, for all the wrong reasons. How could I accept that? The night we spent together only fueled my desire to leave.” “For all the wrong reasons? Our passion fueled your desire to leave me?” “You misunderstand me,” she cried. “I do not want to hurt you. But you ruined me, you would decide to marry me. Honor is not the right reason, not for me.” He stepped closer, his gaze piercing. “Do you even know my reasons, Amanda?” “Yes, I do.” Somehow she tilted up her chin, yet she felt tears falling. “You are the most honorable man I have ever met. I know my letter hardly stated the depth of my feelings, but after all you have done, and all your family has done, you must surely know that leaving you was very difficult.” “The depth of your feelings,” he said. His nostrils flared, his gaze brilliant. “Do you refer to the friendship you wish to maintain—your affection for me?” He was cold and sarcastic, taking a final step toward her. He towered over her now. She wanted to step backward, away from him, but she held her ground. “I didn’t think you would wish to continue our friendship. But it is so important to me. I will beg you to forgive me so we can remain dear friends.” “I don’t want to be a dear friend,” he said harshly. “And goddamn it, do not tell me you felt as a friend does when you were in my bed!” She stiffened. “That’s not fair.” “You left me. That’s not fair,” he shot back, giving no quarter. “After all you have done, it wasn’t fair, I agree completely. But I was desperate.” He shook his head. “I will never believe you are desperate to be a shopkeeper. And what woman is truly independent? Only a spinster or a widow. You are neither.” Slowly, hating her words, she said, “I had planned on the former.” “Like hell,” he spat. She accepted the dread filling her then. “You despise me now.” “Are you truly so ignorant, so oblivious? How on earth could I ever despise you?” he exclaimed, leaning closer. “Would I be standing here demanding marriage if I despised you?” She started. Her heart skipped wildly; she tried to ignore it. She whispered, “Why did you really pursue me?” “I am a de Warenne,” he said, straightening. “As my father said so recently, there is no stopping us, not if it is a question of love.

She looked at me tiredly. “I bet you wish you would have kicked the tires before falling for this hot mess.” She smiled weakly. “Aren’t you glad I saved you from yourself?” I shook my head. “No, that’s not how that works, Kristen. Love is for better or worse. It’s always and no matter what. The no-matter-what just happened first for us.” Her eyes teared up and she pressed her lips together. “I miss you.” My throat got tight. “Then be with me, Kristen. Right now. We can move in together, today. Sleep in the same bed. Just say okay. That’s all you have to say. Just say okay.” I wanted it so badly my heart felt like it was screaming. I wanted to shake her, kidnap her and hold her hostage until she stopped this crap. But she shook her head. “No.” I let go of her hand and leaned away from her against the door, my fingers to the bridge of my nose. “You’re killing both of us.” “One day—” “Stop talking to me about one day.” I turned to her. “I’m never going to feel differently about this.” She waited a beat. “Neither am I.” We sat in silence for a moment, and I closed my eyes. I felt her move across the seat, and then her body was pressed against my side. I wrapped an arm around her and let her tuck her head under my chin. The feel of her was therapeutic. I think it was for both of us. A warm compress for my soul. I’d never had all of her at once. I’d only ever gotten pieces. Her friendship without her body. Her body without her love. And now her love without any of the rest of it. But even with what little fragments I’d had, it was enough to tell me I would never stop chasing all of her. Never. Not if I lived to be a hundred. She was it. She just was. “Kristen, you’re the woman I’m supposed to spend the rest of my life with,” I whispered. “I know it in my fucking soul.” She sniffed. “I know it too, Josh. But that was before.” “Before what?” I wrapped my arms around her tighter, tears pricking my eyes. “Before I broke inside. Before my body made me wrong for you. Sometimes soul mates don’t end up together, Josh. They marry other people. They never meet. Or one of them dies.” I squeezed my eyes shut and felt the lump in my throat get bigger. Just to have her admit it, to have her acknowledge that’s what we were to each other, was the most validating thing she’d ever given me.

I don’t want to do this without you,” I whisper. He leans back. “Who said you’re going to do anything without me?

Even though I don't believe in a god, I still feel I am in touch with something beyond myself. Sometimes it's an occurence timed with such ingenuity it feels cosmic. Like the gift of the piano. Other times, it's a sense of profound connection. One morning my cat settled on the pillow just above my head. It's always my desire for her to do this, but most often she does not; she lies between my legs, or on my hip, and after some minutes I feel the need to move, and she slopes away. But that particular morning she settled and inched her face forward until her cheek rested on my own. It felt like a connection beyond offering her the soft warmth of my body, a cosy place for her to nap. It felt like she was giving herself to me for my comfort alone, letting me lean on her. I felt the friendship of a cat and it touched me. Even though I could easily rathionalise the comfort out of it, I let it be taken as I needed to in that moment. My soul needs signs and symbols, not logic.

I step up to a podium and speak to the audience as if I were addressing a rally. But just as I begin, a tall figure in the fifth row stands up and says, "Excuse me, Jesus..." I lean forward to search the blackness for the voice. The figure raises a pistol and fires a shot that echoes all over the auditorium. The place goes nuts. People scream. I smash the blood pack under my shirt and collapse on the floor as the figure dashes out the nearest exit. A couple of audience members actually run after him like it's real. The stage goes to red and the electric guitars start to wail. It's fucking brilliant. There's no time for the audience to recover. Onstage it's chaos: fifty teenagers keen and scream, choristers dressed as cops, paramedics, and reporters dash on trying to restore order, but only complicating things. And in the middle of it all is me, lying in a pool of blood. This, this, this is what being an actor is about. To be able to elicit such a strong reaction from hundreds of people at once - that power is awesome and irresistible and humbling. If you want to think I'm needy because I love applause, go ahead. But I know that the reason I perform is for moments like these, moments when you connect with an audience and take them somewhere.

Earth’s not so bad—” “How would you know?” Tan’elKoth said acidly. “It is only in these past few days that you have had contact with the actual realities of Earth. Are you having fun?” He waved toward the window, where Kollberg now had one hand openly kneading his groin while he leaned one cheek and the side of his open mouth against the glass. Avery flinched and looked away. She hugged herself more tightly. “I don’t understand. If you hate what they’re going to do, why are you helping them?” “I am not helping them!” Suddenly he was on his feet, towering over her, shaking an enormous fist. “I am helping you. I am helping Faith. I am . . .” The passion drained out of him as swiftly as it had arisen. He let his fist open and fall limp against his thigh. “I am trying to go home.” Outside the window, Kollberg panted like an overheated dog. “Well,” Avery said finally. “I’m afraid you’re out of luck.” “How do you mean?” She shook her head. “You’re such a man, Professional. That’s why you can’t find this link of yours.” “I do not understand.” “Of course you don’t. That’s what I mean: You’re a man. You think this link is with the river. It wasn’t. Faith spoke of it, in the car on our way back to Boston when I first picked her up. She was quite clear about it. Her link was never with the river. It was with her mother.” “Her mother—?” “Her dead mother, now.” Tan’elKoth’s eyes narrowed. “I have been a fool,” he said. He spun and seated himself once again at Faith’s side, bending over her with redoubled energy. “Power,” he murmured. “All that is required is a usable source of power—” “What are you doing? She’s dead, Tan’elKoth. There is no link.” “Dead, yes—but the pattern of her consciousness persists, even as your son’s does within me. It was trapped at the instant of her passing. It is powerless, yes—having no body to inform it with will. It is analogous to a computer program stored on disk, you might say: a structure of information that requires only a computer on which to run, and the necessary power to activate.” “What kind of power?” From the doorway behind her, the soulless rasp of Arturo Kollberg said, “My kind of power.” DURING HIS YEARS of walking the world, the crooked knight came to find himself bemazed within a dark and trackless wood. In this wood, all paths led equally to death. The crooked knight did not lose hope; he turned to various guides for help and direction. His first guide was Youthful Dream. Later, he turned to Friendship, then Duty, and finally Reason, but each left him more lost than had the one before. So the crooked knight gave himself up for dead, and simply sat. He would be sitting there still, but for a breeze that came upon him then: a breeze that smelled of wide-open spaces, of limitless skies and bright sun, of ice and high mountains. It was the wind from the dark angel’s wings.

Mate. He’d told Hayden he would stick to his routine. That meant watching the game at her apartment on Sunday and maintaining their friendship. His logical mind fought against his growing urges. Last night, he couldn’t have a simple conversation without touching her. And she didn’t make things any easier. He could smell the desire pouring out of her. It took every ounce of his self-control to hold himself back. At times, it was painful. “I know what I’m doing. I’ve got the situation under control.” Cam laughed. “Like you did yesterday? Dude, we both know it’s only going to get worse. You’re like a ticking sex bomb.” Deep down, Kaden knew he was right. Annabelle would become an irresistible, unquenchable thirst. Ordinarily, she would feel the same pull, but there was no way to know how a human would react. “There’s no such thing as a sex bomb.” Cam spread himself flat across the sofa with his arms crossed behind his head. “Yeah, well, there definitely should be.” “Be serious.” He sat up. “I’m trying to tell you, it’s foolish to fight the bond between you. You’d be better off going with it and letting the panties drop where they may.” And what would happen if he did bond with her? There was no chance it would ever work out between them. He had to hide who he was from the world. A life with him meant Annabelle would have to lie to her friends and family about their relationship. He would never be able to marry her or give her the children she wanted. They’d talked about her dreams for a white picket fence and a family. Even if she were willing to give up those things, wouldn’t he be putting her life in danger? A dull ache formed in the pit of his chest. “You know that’s not possible.” If he could somehow push away these human emotions of his, maybe he stood a chance of keeping her in his life. Maybe someday he could actually be happy for her if she found a suitable mate. He dug his fingernails into the palms of his hands at the thought of her with a human. “I have to go. She’s waiting for me.” “Don’t forget the condoms,” Cam shouted out. “Matter of fact, you might want to double up. With all your pent-up frustration, there’s bound to be an explosion.” “Hilarious,” he replied, shutting the door behind him as he made his way toward his truck. Once inside, he slid his seat belt on and leaned back against the head cushion with his eyes closed. Filled with self-doubt, he worried that he wouldn’t be able to handle it. But he had to. For the sake of everyone he loved, he had to find a way.

I was less than a row away when he grabbed my arm and dug his fingers right into a pressure point. “I would love to know why my cousin is beginning to question me.” “Let go of me or I’ll scream.” “Scream and I’ll kill someone you love.” I turned to finally look up at Blake’s cold blue eyes. “W-what did you say?” “Exactly what you thought you heard. Now, let’s go.” I dug my feet into the ground and tried to walk toward my car. “No! Let me go.” “For shit’s sake, Rachel,” he growled, and leaned close so it looked like we were hugging, “don’t be difficult or I’ll make good on my promise.” From the tone of his voice, I had no doubt he would. “Please, just let me go home, how did you even know I was here?” Blake blew out an annoyed breath and dug his fingers into the pressure point harder before walking us toward his car. “Candice called me this morning screaming at me. Demanding to know what I did that would make you go drop all of your classes today. I was already on campus, so I’ve just been waiting for you.” Wait. Does that mean she believed me? Hope and an ache for the friendship Candice and I had always had blossomed in my chest but was quickly replaced by fear when Blake put me in his car and lifted his shirt just enough to show me the gun holstered to his hip. “Run, Rachel. I dare you.”   M

So I just open up my arms and Vera leans against me, and Gabe steps closer, putting one hand on her hair and petting it absently. None of us say anything. The city pulses on around us, and I’m not sure which one of us is anchoring the others, but I’ve never felt less adrift.

The game is Dare.” A Dauntless girl, Lauren, is holding on to the handle on the side of the train car, but she keeps swaying so she almost falls out, then giggling and pulling herself back in, like the train isn’t suspended two stories above the street, like she wouldn’t break her neck if she fell out. In her free hand is a silver flask. It explains a lot. She tilts her head. “First person picks someone and dares them to do something. Then that person has a drink, does the dare, and gets a chance to dare someone else to do something. And when everyone has done their dare--or died trying--we get a little drunk and stumble home.” “How do you win?” one of the Dauntless calls out from the other side of the train car. A boy who sits slouched against Amar like they’re old friends, or brothers. I’m not the only initiate in the train car. Sitting across from me is Zeke, the first jumper, and a girl with brown hair and bangs cut straight across her forehead, and a pierced lip. The others are older, Dauntless members all. They have a kind of ease with one another, leaning into one another, punching one another’s arms, tousling one another’s hair. It’s camaraderie and friendship and flirtation, and none of it is familiar to me. I try to relax, bending my arms around my knees. I really am a Stiff. “You win by not being a little pansycake,” Lauren says. “And, hey, new rule, you also win by not asking dumb questions.

The others are older, Dauntless members all. They have a kind of ease with one another, leaning into one another, punching one another’s arms, tousling one another’s hair. It’s camaraderie and friendship and flirtation, and none of it is familiar to me. I try to relax, bending my arms around my knees. I really am a Stiff.

They lean into each other, entwine arms and legs, innocently, affectionately, and I look at them, their identical eyes and smiles, and try to imagine the divergence of their lives. Mitra marrying at fourteen, while her cousin begins life in England. Mitra leaving school to have children while Farah studies, learns English, grows up in London, maybe goes on to university. I stare into the soft faces of those girls and try to imagine them meeting again, ten years from now. Farah will return for a visit. She will wear fashionable clothes and will wear a chaador with disdain. She will speak a refined English and will fit awkwardly into her mother tongue; it will no longer hold her. She will have developed a taste for philosophy over coffee, will have grown used to speaking her mind, will have had many friendships and a heartbreak that will have left her unsettled but independent, will have become successful, enviable. She and Mitra will gasp when they see each other after all these years. They will hug and separate and hug and separate and kiss each other on the cheek again and again. Then they will sit across from each other staring, wondering how the other one got so old. Mitra will have four children; no, five; and will wear this, them, in her face. Her arms will be thick, strong, her hands calloused, and she will cry easily, not because she is sad, but because her emotions will not live behind her mind. Farah will be shocked to see her old friend and will think it pathetic, her life, all these children, this cooking and praying and serving; this waste. The visit will be pleasant but awkward, forced in a way neither of them expected. Farah will find an excuse to spend the rest of her holiday in Tehran and will return to England without seeing Mitra again. They will be cousins always but never friends, because each will have a wisdom the other cannot understand. The girls stare at me, waiting for an answer. "Yes," I say, "You will both be happy.

I am sorry, Miss Lemay. This must have been a great shock to you and it’s all my fault. Will you come and have a drink with me? You look as if you need one.’ She dabbed her cheek some more and looked at me in a manner that demolished all thoughts of instant friendship. ‘I wouldn’t even cross the road with you,’ she said tonelessly. The way she said it indicated that she would willingly have gone half-way across a busy street with me and then abandoned me there. If I had been a blind man. ‘Welcome to Amsterdam,’ I said drearily and trudged off in the direction of the nearest bar.