My Hottie Quotes

She questioned my sexual preference in a highly offensive way, so my fist questioned the proximity of her face in an even more offensive way.

Stop," I said. "Please do not further endorken yourself to me. You have great hair and a car that is most fly, and you have just saved me with your mad ninja driving skills, so do not sully your heroic hottie image in my mind by further reciting your nerdy scholastic agenda. Don't tell me what you're studying, Steve, tell me what's in your soul. What haunts you?" And he was like, "Dude, you need to cut back on the caffeine.

Anyway, back to the kids." "Well, one is a girl who looks about your age, and there's a boy." She grinned as she stood. "He's a hottie." A tiny piece of egg caught in my throat. It was seriously gross to hear Mom talking about boys my age. "Hottie? Mom that's just weird.

Fantasizing about an Italian hottie was far better than my normal dreams.

As he gave me the world's most loving tender, perfect kiss, I realized my heart belonged to him forever, and nothing in my life has ever caused me more pain.

Great. He was a hottie, a good kisser, and a literature buff. God really must have had a sense of humor, because if I had to name my biggest turn-on, it was literature. And he had just recommended a book that I didn’t know, that wasn’t taught in school. If I were single, there would be no better pick-up line. Suddenly, I found myself thinking back to Atonement—you know, the scene in the book where the two main characters have sex in the library? Even though Chloe said doing it against bookshelves would be really uncomfortable (and she’d probably know), it was still a fantasy of mine. Like, what’s more romantic than a quiet place full of books? But I shouldn’t have been thinking about my library fantasies. Especially while I was staring at Cash. In the middle of a library.

As Dave was ruffling my hair and Greg was slapping me five we heard the sound of sneakers skidding to a halt on the slick hospital floor. I looked up in time to see a three-J pile up. “What the hell is this?” Jesse asked. “Back the freak up off our woman,” Josh ordered.

I dropped down on the cushion beside Lea and picked up the book she'd been reading. Turning the book over, my brows flew up as I got an eyeful of the hottie on the cover. "Wait. Is this book about aliens?" She snatched it back from me. "Yes." "Really?" "But they're hot aliens." She tapped on the guy's face with one thin finger. "And he can be my ET any day.

Honey, there’s not a single woman in this town who doesn’t know about Sanctuary, Land of the Bodacious Gods. Heck, me and my girlfriends want to get together and vote Mama Lo an award for her policy against hiring any man not seriously buff…Not that you’re not buff. You can certainly hold your own against the Sanctuary Hotties. But face it, haven’t you ever noticed that this place is like Hooters for women? (Sunshine) No, I can honestly say that I’ve never noticed how good-looking the men at Sanctuary are. Nor have I ever cared. (Talon)

Though I wondered what she ever made of my professed love for and intentions to marry Big Bird, the hottie of Sesame Street.

I have no clue what my motive is for following him, maybe I'm just bored. Maybe it's just so easy to cyber-stalk hotties on Facebook that I've moved on to doing it in real life.

He’s already one up on me. He’s been on the receiving end of a couple of Hottie’s kisses. I’ve got nothing. It’s the first time I’ve ever been jealous of my dog.

Um, what's cooking in that sadistic brain of yours?" Jen asked nervously. Sally's eyes snapped open. "I was just thinking that maybe if you met someone else then you could get past your furry problem." "My furry problem? Really? You make it sound like I have abnormal leg hair growth or something." Jen rolled her eyes. "Look." Sally stopped Jen before she could walk out of the room. "Let's just give it a go. You, me, and Jacque – tonight. We'll get Sorin to take us somewhere where there are going to be guys. Then you can do your thing." "My thing?" Jen asked, raising her eyebrows. "Yeah. You know, your thing. The hottie hunting thing." Jen laughed. "Man, it sounded like such a good idea at the time." Sally groaned. "Oh, come on, Jen." Jen interrupted her before Sally could continue. "Don’t. Don't do that whiny voice." "Then say you will go tonight," Sally challenged. "Or are you chicken?" "You really like living on the edge, don't you, Thelma?" "Hey, I'm just calling it how I see it.

God damn, I wish I could fast-forward time and be old and wrinkly. How awesome would that be? No more worrying about getting ogled by douche bags like Trent Gibson, or getting all hormonal and bothered against my will over hotties like Grant Blue, who wouldn’t touch me with a ten-foot pole.

I could seriously get used to having a houseboy,” she said wistfully. He raised an eyebrow. “Boy?” “Er, um, house hottie then? House stud?” He winced. “Sorry I said anything at all. If it ever gets out that you called me your house hottie, I’ll never be able to show my face to my team again.

Your mother’s holding for you on line two,” she says. “If I were you, I’d buy a florist and a candy shop. Maybe a winery too. Sounds like she needs them.” Might be time to resign from my personal life.

I was concussed! My brain was scrambled. Whatever I said, it didn't count. I'm sorry to hear that. I kind of liked the idea of being gorgeous. I'm sure you already know that. It's still nice to know that you think so.

Is Lisa going to the prom?" I shelved my worries for the moment. "I don't know, Mom. We don't talk about the You-Know-What. We made a pact." "You could go together, if you didn't want to mess with dates and things." "I don't want to mess with the prom at all, Mom." She ignored me, placidly eating popcorn, piece by piece. "Some girls in my high school class did that and had a wonderful time. They weren't lesbians or anything. Not that it would matter if they were." "That's nice, Mom. I'm glad you're so open-minded." I grabbed my Coke and the popcorn bowl and headed for the stairs, because I could go my whole life without ever hearing my mother talk about lesbians again. "Maybe you could take Justin to the prom," she called after me, laughter in her voice. "He is such a hottie." Shoot me now.

Will you help me strategize?” “Sure,” Becca said, her voice cheery. “First. Remove all your clothes, and then borrow my trench coat. If a hottie like Leo Trevi called me the love of his life, I wouldn’t be eating takeout on the living room floor with my roommate. At least one of us should be having sex with someone who doesn’t require batteries.

Beach party? Michigan is surrounded by water on three sides. We may not have waves, but we have lots of beaches. Beaches are useless without waves. Not my point. Even though I happen to agree.

I am overweight. But to me, it's fat. I don't have Body Dysmorphic Disorder. When I look in the mirror I don't plunge into a depression and stick my finger down my throat or carve FAT in my arm with a pickle fork. I can appreciate when I look good aside from the weight. Sometimes I might say, Oh, I'm having a good face day.And a few times, after checking my appearance in the mirror before a date, I'd say, Okay. I'd date me. And I know if I ever could get the extra tonnage off, I'd be the first one to parade around in my underwear, or have no qualms about getting naked with a hottie, while the lights were still on in the room.

But as soon as we touched, I felt magic crackle over and through me, so strong that I tried to jerk my hand back. But he held tight until, finally, the crackling sensation stopped. My hand slid out of his, and I leaped up from the fountain."What the hell was-" Then I looked down and realized I was completely dry. Not only that, but my demure black dress had been replaced with...well, another black dress, but this one was a lot shorter, sparklier, and also rocking a very low neckline. Even my hair was different, transformed from a soggy braid to silky brown waves. Nick winked at me. "That's better. Now you look more like the Demon Who Would be Queen." He heaved himself out of the water and grabbed Jenna's hand. Within seconds, she went from drowned rat to hottie, her soaked clothes replaced with-what else?-a pink sundress. Of course it showed a lot more skin than anything Jenna would have picked out for herself. "Oh,lovely,Nick," Daisy said, rolling her eyes as he wrapped an arm around her waist. "What?" he asked once he laid a smacking kiss on her cheek. "They look better like that." Without thinking,I reached out and grabbed Nick's free arm. His wet white T-shirt and jeans rippled, and suddenly he was wearing a Day-Glo yellow tank top and acid-washed jeans. "And you look better like this." I wasn't sure if it was the ridiculous sight of Nick in those clothes, or the fact that I'd done a spell so easily-with absolutely no explosions-but I could feel my lips curving upward in a smile. As Daisy hooted with laughter, Nick narrowed his eyes at me. "Okay, now you're in for it." He waved his hand, and suddenly I was sweltering. When I glanced down, I saw that it was because I was now dressed like the Easter Bunny.But with the flick of one fuzzy paw,I'd transformed Nick's jeans and tank top into a snowsuit. Then I was in a bikini. So Nick was wearing a particularly poofy purple prom dress. By the time he'd turned my clothes into a showgirl's costume, complete with a feathery headdress, and I'd put him in a scuba suit, we were both completely magic drunk and giggling.

This way we are sure to have enough chairs for everyone," he explained with a grin. "Oh, right. We definitely want to make sure there are plenty of seats." Jacque smirked. "Well, as long as we are being so conscientious," Jen cut in. "Sally, why don't you go climb up in Sorin's lap and I'll," she pointed as a guy walked past her, "grab that hottie and pull up a lap as well." Jen felt a hand rest at the nape of her neck as a voice spoke softly next to her ear. "If you need a lap to sit on, ţinere de meu inimă (holder of my heart), mine will be the only available to you." She watched as Decebel sat in the chair next to her and felt her stomach drop as he winked at her. "I better stay in this chair. It has a tendency to walk off if left on its own.

Al right, calm down. Fuck,” Smithie said. It was then I felt something not unpleasant but somewhat scary slide across my skin and I looked up to see the gang of hotties al standing, watching and every last one of them flashing a grin. “What are you lookin’ at?” I snapped, not to any one of them in particular, but in their general direction. Don’t ask me why I didn’t run and hide in the books, I just didn’t. I guess that wasn’t me anymore. “Babe, you just made me a regular,” Mace said.

I am so glad Todd and I eloped,” she said sincerely. “There was no way to salvage the wreckage. But I think that you deserved this, and I'm very happy for you.” She leaned forward and kissed my cheek. Then she whispered, “He is really, really a hottie. How did you mange that?” “Brat,” I told her, and gave her a hug. “Todd’s not exactly chopped liver.” She smiled smugly and took another sip. “No he’s not.” “He could be,” said Ben from behind me, his British accent giving him a civilized air that he didn’t deserve. “Do you want him to be chopped liver, darling?” I turned, making sure I was between Ben and Nan, “My sisters are off-limits,” I reminded him. A flash of hurt came and went on his face. With Ben, it was even odds whether the emotion was genuine or not -but my instincts told me they had been. So I continued in a mock-chiding tone, “Ruthie is too young for you, and Nan is married to a very nice man. So be good.” Nan had caught the flash of hurt, too, I thought. She was softer than our mother, more like her father in temperament as well as looks. She couldn’t stand to have anyone hurting and not do anything about it. She sighed dramatically. “All the pretty men, and I’m tied to just one.” Ben smiled at her. “Anytime you want to change that…” I poked him in the side-he could have slipped out of the way, but he didn’t bother. “Okay,” he said, backing away with exaggerated fear. “Ill be good, I promise. Just don’t hurt me again.” He was loud enough that all the people around us looked at us. Adam pushed his way through the pack and ruffled Ben’s hair as he went by him. “Behave Ben.” The Ben I’d first met would have snarled and pulled away from the affectionate scold. This one grinned at me, and said, “Not if I can help it, I wont,” to Adam.

Dating any of the J's would have been like dating, not my brother necessarily, but definitely a stepbrother, or a cousin.

I’m Nicole, and oh my God, we need to become friends. I have to know how my grim faced bro scored such a hottie.” Garrett

I'm not related to Gerard Way but I wish I was because he's a major fucking hottie.

And speaking of hotties, I have to go," I finish and turn to finish my walk toward Bubby.

Next question.” He swipes the screen of his phone, but he’s not looking at it; he’s staring at me. Trying to intimidate me. Trying to see who’ll blink first. “Did you leave DC because (A) you couldn’t find any hotties to make out with? Or (B) your East Coast boyfriend is an ankle buster and you’d heard about legendary West Coast D, so you had to find out for yourself if the rumors were true?” he says with a smirk. “Idiot,” Grace mumbles, shaking her head. I may not understand some of his phrasing, but I get the gist. I feel myself blushing. But I manage to recover quickly and get a jab in. “Why are you so interested in my love life?” “I’m not. Why are you evading the question? You do that a lot, by the way.” “Do what?” “Evade questions.” “What business is that of yours?” I say, secretly irritated that he’s figured me out... Porter scoffs. “Seeing how this is your first day on the job, and may very well be your last, considering the turnover rate for this position? And seeing how I have seniority over you? I’d say, yeah, it’s pretty much my business.” “Are you threatening me?” I ask. He clicks off his phone and raises a brow. “Huh?” “That sounded like a threat,” I say. “Whoa, you need to chill. That was not . . .” He can’t even say it. He’s flustered now, tucking his hair behind his ear. “Grace . . .” Grace holds up a hand. “Leave me out of this mess. I have no idea what I’m even witnessing here. Both of you have lost the plot.

Uh oh,” Lula said. “Here comes Officer Hottie, and he don’t look happy.” Morelli moved behind me and curled his fingers into the back of my jacket collar. “I need to talk to you . . . outside.” “I wouldn’t go if I was you,” Lula said to me. “He’s wearing his mad cop face. At least you should make him leave his gun here.” Morelli shot Lula a look, and she buried her head in the chicken bucket.

Then again, he’s reading a book, and that’s always revved my engine. There are entire handles on Instagram devoted to candid shots of hotties reading in public. Humanity has spoken: reading a book makes a sexy someone even sexier.

She grabs me by the balls, scraping my sack, and that color behind my eyeballs goes iridescent. Beyond white. I can’t think. I can’t talk. I can barely keep my knees from giving out. “Flaccid,” she whispers. “And still crooked. You should see a doctor about that.

I offer him a chocolate from the glass candy dish my admin insisted I needed. He swallows it, wrapper and all, then grabs the bowl and drinks the rest down. I’ve mentioned I missed these guys, haven’t I? “You’re my fucking hero,” I tell Ares. He grunts and eyes the candy dish like he’s contemplating taking a bite of it too.

My father has a name for my temper: he calls her the dragon. I hoard my hurts like gold and jewels, sleeping on them until someone wakes me up. Then, when she’s awoken (for example, by a big clod of a man), the mythical beast spreads her wings inside my body, scales scraping against the inside of my skin, reminding me of all the reasons I’m angry.

In an unexpected move, Bryce reached for my hand and pulled me to his side. “Play along. We’ll straighten this out later.” Good Lord, the school hottie was touching me. It felt like I’d won some sort of geek-girl lottery. And depending on how this played out, Bryce could be the answer to my boyfriend problems. If he wanted me to cover for him, then he needed to help me with my overprotective brothers.

I don’t get it, man. That dude has zero game, then suddenly he up and jets with a hottie? Meanwhile I can’t buy a date.” “Makes no sense.” Hi, face serious. I pressed a fist to my lips, considering. “What’d the girl look like?” “Hot.” Ben shifted his weight. I heard Hi chuckle behind me. I choked back my mounting frustration. “Could you be more specific?” “Oh, right.” Cole rubbed his oily chin and squinted at the ceiling. “She had, like, nice hair. It was sorta . . . black? Or maybe brown. Not blonde, for sure. And she was kinda tall. But not really. Oh, and I think she wore a T-shirt. Could be wrong, though.” I stared at the useless witness before me. What a moron. “Can you remember anything else, Cole?” Catching his eye, I tried to urge the memory from his brain by force of will. “Anything at all?” For a moment, Cole’s face screwed up in thought, then it bloomed with contentment. “He said I could have his mattress. Solid dude, that Jordan.” Hi snapped on his seat belt. “Not everyone is college material.” Shelton shook his head. “I’m surprised that guy remembers to breathe.

Dylan, my man!" Kyle Martinez jogged up from the direction of the parking lot and slapped Dylan on the back. "Is Hannah giving you the 4-1-1 on Red Rocks? This girl knows it all." "Yeah," chimed in Paul Hume, who had appeared on Dylan's other side. "It's hard to believe that someone so hot could have brains, too!" Kyle made an over exaggerated point at Hannah from behind his hand as he whispered to Dylan, "Major hottie." "Hottie!" Colby repeated as he joined the gang gathered on the front lawn. "Are you guys talking about Hannah Banana? She, like, defines the word babe.

Spill-what’s the deal with Hottie McDreamMan?” “Sage?” I laughed. “No, I mean Minister Sanders.” She threw a pillow at me. “Of course I mean Sage! He’s the one, right? The guy from your dreams. Oh my God-he’s real and he’s hot! Does he kiss as well in real life as he did in your dreams?” “I wouldn’t know,” I admitted. “We haven’t kissed.” “What are you waiting for?” “So the whole randomly-popping-up-in-pictures thing doesn’t bother you?” “Nope.” “The whole strange-cultists-chasing-after-him? That doesn’t bother you either?” “Nobody’s perfect, Clea.” “How about if I told you he might be a serial killer? Would that bother you?” “Debatable. Elaborate.” I told her about the nightmares and about what I’d seen in his house. As I unrolled the story, her expression went from flip and giddy to openmouthed and riveted. “Oh my God, Clea.” “Crazy, right? And I still have no idea how he got into all those pictures.” “That part’s easy.” “Really?” “Of course,” she said. “You’re soulmates. “Rayna…” “Fine, I know, you don’t like that word. But you can’t possibly deny that you have a deep, powerful soul connection. By definition you have that. You said yourself, he found you in four different countries and four different times. Out of all the people in the world at any given time, he found you. The only possible way he could have done that is if your souls were connected. He’s a soul-seeking missile.” “But he told me he wasn’t there for any of the pictures.” “Yes, he was! Don’t you get it, Clea? Your souls are connected-he’s always with you, whether he’s there physically or not. And you’re the one who told me about cameras capturing people’s souls, right? So that’s what it’s doing-capturing the soul that’s always with you, because you’re always connected. It’s very romantic.” I thought about what she said, ignoring the last sentence because I knew by now that everything was very romantic to Rayna. “Okay,” I ceded, “I’ll give you the connection. But what about the serial killer thing? What fi we’re connected because he tracks these women down, acts like he loves them, and then kills them?” “Kills you. You’re them.” “Yeah, thanks, that’s a much nicer way to put it,” I said, rolling my eyes.

Gina flopped back on her cot, arm up over her eyes. “Oh, my God, Molly, what am I going to do? The fact that he came here tonight at all is . . . He’s clearly interested, but that’s probably just because he thinks I’m a total perv.” “Whoa,” Molly said. “Wait. You lost me there.” Gina sat up, a mix of earnestness, horror, and amusement on her pretty face. “I didn’t tell you this, but after I first spoke to Lucy’s sister—we were in the shower tent so no one would see us—I let her leave first and then I waited, like, a minute, thinking we shouldn’t be seen leaving the tent together. And before I go, he came in.” He. “Leslie Pollard?” Molly clarified. Gina nodded. “I freaked out when I saw him coming, and it’s stupid, I know, but I hid. And I should have just waited until I heard the shower go on, but God, maybe he wouldn’t have pulled the curtain, because he obviously thought he was in there alone . . .” Molly started to laugh. “Oh my.” “Yeah,” Gina said. “Oh my. So I decide to run for it, only he’s not in one of the changing booths, he’s over by the bench, you know?” Molly nodded. The bench in the main part of the room. “In only his underwear,” Gina finished, with a roll of her eyes. “Oh, my God.” “Really? Molly asked. Apparently Jones was taking his change of identity very seriously. He hated wearing underwear of any kind, but obviously he thought it wouldn’t be in character for Leslie Pollard to go commando. “Boxers or briefs?” Gina gave her a look, but she was starting to laugh now, too, thank goodness. “Briefs. Very brief briefs.” She covered her mouth with her hands. “Oh, my God, Molly, he was . . . I think he showers at noon because he knows no one else will be in there, so he can, you know, have an intimate visit with Mr. Hand.” Oh, dear. “And now I know, and he knows I know, and he also probably thinks I lurk in the men’s shower,” Gina continued. “And the fact that he actually came to tea tonight, instead of hiding from me, in his tent, forever, means . . . something awful, don’t you think? Did I mention he has, like, an incredible body?” Molly shook her head. Oh dear. “No.” “Yes,” Gina said just a little too grimly, considering the topic. “Who would’ve guessed that underneath those awful shirts he’s a total god? And maybe that’s what’s freaking out the most.” “You mean because . . . you’re attracted to him?” Molly asked. “No!” Gina said. “God! Because I’m not. I felt nothing. I’m standing there and he’s . . . You know how I said he reminds me of Hugh Grant?” Molly nodded, too relieved to speak. “Well, I got the wrong Hugh. This guy is built like Hugh Jackman. And beneath the hats and sunblock and glasses, he’s actually got cheekbones and a jaw line, too. I’m talking total hottie. And, yes, I can definitely appreciate that on one level, but . . .” She glanced over at the desk, at her digital camera. She’d gotten it out of her trunk earlier today. Which, Molly had learned, meant that she’d spent more time this afternoon looking at her saved pictures. Which included at least a few of Max. Molly’s relief over not having to deal with the complications of Gina having a crush on Leslie felt a whole lot less good. She wished someone would just go ahead and steal Gina’s camera already. Maybe that would help her move on.

We were both quiet for a bit. With my last brilliant idea a failure, the reality that maybe we could never fix this hung like a chain around my neck, cutting off the air. I’d fought so hard to get—really get—Lend. From escaping the Center to stopping Vivian to overcoming my own stupid issues, I’d been fighting for this relationship since the day I first saw water eyes. I couldn’t have come this far just to lose him physically forever. It wasn’t fair. And I was sick and tired of things not being fair. “So, where’s my present?” I wiped under my eyes. “Oh, right. You have your laptop in there?” “Yeah.” Smiling, I grabbed my laptop off the coffee table and emailed him the link, then waited. “Ooh, I’ve got mail.” After a few seconds I heard the video playing, and Lend laughed. “How long did this take you?” “I had a lot of time on my hands while you were in finals.” I leaned my head against the wall as I heard the soundtrack to the clips. I’d gone through all four seasons of Easton Heights and found every single time any of the characters said “I love you,” then (with copious amounts of help from Arianna) pieced them all together back to back, with one of Lend’s favorite songs as the soundtrack. “I love you!” “I love you. “I LOVE YOU, idiot!” “You are so—I hate you! I love you!” “Shut up and tell me you love me.” “Te amo!” Ah, yes, the quest arc of the Spanish hottie. That was a good season. Given the number of relationships that show cycled through, the video lasted several minutes. When it ended, I heard Lend’s laptop closing. “Well?” I asked. “I love you,” he answered. “I love you, too.” I put my palm against the wall, fingers splayed out.

Lieutenant Smith was asked by Mister Zumwald to get him a drink,” Wilkes said. “She responded with physical violence. I counseled her on conduct unbecoming of an officer and, when she reacted with foul language, on disrespect to a superior officer, sir, and I’ll stand by that position. Sir.” “I agree that her actions were unbecoming, Captain,” Steve said, mildly. “She really should have resolved it with less force. Which I told her as well as a strong lecture on respect to a superior officer. On the other hand, Captain, Mister Zumwald physically accosted her, grabbing her arm and, when she protested, called her a bitch. Were you aware of that, Captain?” “She did say something about it, sir,” Wilkes said. “However… ” “I also understand that you spent some time with Mister Zumwald afterwards,” Steve said. “Rather late. Did you at any time express to Mister Zumwald that accosting any woman, much less an officer of… what was it? ‘The United States Naval services’ was unacceptable behavior, Captain?” “Sir,” Wilkes said. “Mister Zumwald is a major Hollywood executive… ” “Was,” Steve said. “Excuse me, sir?” Wilkes said. “Was a major Hollywood executive,” Steve said. “Right now, Ernest Zumwald, Captain, is a fucking refugee off a fucking lifeboat. Period fucking dot. He’s given a few days grace, like most refugees, to get his headspace and timing back, then he can decide if he wants to help out or go in with the sick, lame and lazy. And in this case he’s a fucking refugee who thinks it’s acceptable to accost some unknown chick and tell him to get him a fucking drink. Grab her by the arm and, when she tells him to let go, become verbally abusive. “What makes the situation worse, Captain, is that the person he accosted was not just any passing young hotty but a Marine officer. He did not know that at the time; the Marine officer was dressed much like other women in the compartment. However, he does not have the right to grab any woman in my care by the fucking arm and order them to get him a fucking drink, Captain! Then, to make matters worse, following the incident, Captain, you spent the entire fucking evening getting drunk with a fucktard who had physically and verbally assaulted a female Marine officer! You dumbshit.” “Sir, I… ” Wilkes said, paling. “And not just any Marine officer, oh, no,” Steve said. “Forget that it was the daughter of the Acting LANTFLEET. Forget that it was the daughter of your fucking rating officer, you retard. I’m professional enough to overlook that. I really am. There’s personal and professional, and I do actually know the line. Except that it was, professionally, a disgraceful action on your part, Captain. But not just any Marine officer, Captain. No, this was a Marine officer that, unlike you, is fucking worshipped by your Marines, Captain. This is a Marine officer that the acting Commandant thinks only uses boats so her boots don’t get wet walking from ship to ship. This is a Marine officer who is the only fucking light in the darkness to the entire Squadron, you dumbfuck! “I’d already gotten the scuttlebutt that you were a palace prince pogue who was a cowardly disgrace to the Marine uniform, Captain. I was willing to let that slide because maybe you could run the fucking clearance from the fucking door. But you just pissed off every fucking Marine we’ve got, you idiot. You incredible dumbfuck, moron! “In case you hadn’t noticed, you are getting cold-shouldered by everyone you work with while you were brown-nosing some fucking useless POS who used to ‘be somebody.’ ‘Your’ Marines are spitting on your shadow and that includes your fucking Gunnery Sergeant! Captain, am I getting through to you? Are you even vaguely recognizing how badly you fucked up? Professionally, politically, personally?

Bird, however, insists that my desire for a career in sports reporting has nothing to do with my love of sports. “It’s your other love: guys. You want to know what really goes on in the locker room, and you want to get up close and personal with those towel-wrapped hotties.” Her theory is a lot closer to the truth than I like to admit, because it makes me seem less than noble in my pursuit of a higher education.

I got to Steve’s door and gasped. He was the Dining Room Hottie! He was on the phone with his back toward me, but there was no mistaking that hair, those shoulders, that suit. What kind of sick joke was the universe pulling? Right there, about to turn around, was the sexy guy I’d been silently seducing for months, and our first conversation was going to begin with, “Hi, I’m Lisa. I don’t know shit about fuck.” I thought I was going to lose my three cookies.

My brain said, Step away from the naughty hottie. My body said, I like cookies.

still a hottie.” I didn’t for one second want to know if Sudsy was serious or not.

Let’s go back to what happened at the ballpark,” I said, “because I’m still not getting it.” He sighed. “Look, he tells me he’s got a thing for you. I back off. He gets you. And now he’s making moves on Tiffany. What’s up with that? I know you like him. He’s a nine point five and I’m a six--” “No!” I reached out, covered his hand with mine. “Dani, I saw your roster that night at Ben and Jerry’s, when it fell out of your bag. I unfolded it, shouldn’t have, but I did. I saw the hottie scores--” “No. I mean, yes, I gave you a six, but I did it because I wanted to give you a ten.” He shook his head. “That makes no sense.” “I was trying to convince myself you weren’t a ten, because it’s a lot harder living with a guy you’re attracted to than it is living with one you’re not.” “Wait a minute. Let me get this straight. You gave me a six because you liked me, and you thought it would make you stop liking me?” “I thought it would be weird liking a guy who was living in my house. And I sorta promised Mom I wouldn’t do that. Really like the guy who was living here. Only I do.

He put his hands in his jeans pockets. “Did you really think that defacing my sidewalk with your art would convince me to forgive you?” I sighed. “No.” “You do realize that these children may never recover from seeing such a hideous lack of talent.” I looked at the children who were watching us closely. “Yeah. Although, I do think I helped their self-esteem.” He shook his head, but his eyes held a smile. “I can’t believe you went public with your art.

Caleb muttered, “Come on, Hottie Number Two.” I rolled my eyes and grunted in return. He would never let this one go. Calista asked, “How much did she have to drink before you were dubbed Number One?” 'She was dead sober when she numbered us.' Caleb stopped and stared at her. 'Did Alexander tell you that? She didn’t start drinking until after.

Caleb muttered, “Come on, Hottie Number Two.” I rolled my eyes and grunted in return. He would never let this one go. Calista asked, “How much did she have to drink before you were dubbed Number One?” “She was dead sober when she numbered us.” Caleb stopped and stared at her. “Did Alexander tell you that? She didn’t start drinking until after.

Caleb muttered, 'Come on, Hottie Number Two.' I rolled my eyes and grunted in return. He would never let this one go. Calista asked, 'How much did she have to drink before you were dubbed Number One?' 'She was dead sober when she numbered us.' Caleb stopped and stared at her. 'Did Alexander tell you that? She didn’t start drinking until after.

JACK I’m Jack, the Sword of Summer, Sumarbrander, Blade of Frey. That is, I was his, until he tossed me away. FREY Jack, I did you wrong. You know I’m feeling the guilt. JACK Yeah, right. Forget you, man. Talk to my hilt! FREY Come on, Slice! Give me a chance. At least let me explain why I passed you off to Skirnir— JACK I know why. You were insane. You sat on Odin’s throne to search for Freya, your lost sister. A giantess caught your eye. So much for Freya. You just dissed her. FREY Gerd was gorgeous. Total hottie. I dream of her still. Shining face, lovely hair— JACK I think I’m going to be ill. FREY I know you’ve suffered, Blade of Frey, Sword of Summer, Sumarbrander. JACK The worst is yet to come, when I’m with my new commander. FREY You mean Surt, at Ragnarok. JACK The Black One of Muspellheim. On the day of doom, he’ll wield me— FREY —and free the Wolf. Chaos time. JACK Boiling seas. Bloodred skies. FREY Gods will vanish. Giants rise. JACK I’ll be sad to see you go. FREY Will you really? JACK Really? No. FREY Destiny is destiny. We all have our parts to play. JACK I’ll act mine now then, Nature Boy, and say, “See you later, Frey.” FREY There’ll never be another quite like you, Sword of Summer. Our paths may cross again. If not…good-bye, old friend.

I watched a young lady climb onto a city bus and as she walked down the aisle I saw her grab the handle overhead to steady herself as the bus took off. I also noticed the bus full of men..black men.. sitting around her as she stood there holding on to the handle overhead.  As I watched that bus roll on down the street I wanted to catch up and drive along with it and catch it at the next stop so that I could jump out of my car and jump on that bus and ask those so called men to offer their seats to this one young lady trying to hold herself up against the force of the moving bus.  I was saddened by that scene because it confirmed what I have chosen to ignore up until now. I chose to ignore the decline of moral character of the men in the black community.

Because… oh my god. My tutor is hot. My parents hired me a hottie. This is hilarious.

Biting my lip against a grin, I watch him return. It’s like watching a gorgeous, oblivious nerd on a catwalk. “Here.” Ambrose Brent, tutor hottie extraordinaire, flings the napkins onto our table.

For a fleeting moment, I wonder if he’s contemplating my demise, adding me to his list of victims. But then he leans down, his mask brushing my ear. “I’m not done with you, little one. Not ever.

There’s a Christmas ornament in my pussy and a buzzing butt plug in my ass. Oh, and did I mention there’s one hottie eating me out while the other one sucks my face off? Best. Christmas. Ever.

Lils, with all due respect, you and Amanda are totally princesses, but you are so not my princesses.”  “Well, duh! Cause Hottie McHot—”  “That’s Headmistress McHot to you, Ms. Easterly.” Magdalene’s soft quiet voice held a note of amusement, but both Lily and Sam jumped about a foot in the air at the interruption.

I run my fingertips down the paper, oddly touched that he called Libby by name. Not your daughter or the kid, but Libby. Her own person, not an extension of me.

I’m a woman in my sexual prime with no outlet for all this brimming energy. He’s all slabs of muscle and buckets of testosterone. Being attracted to him is inevitable.

I know I’m able to stand on my own. I know I can navigate this world without anyone by my side…but do I have to? Do I have to make my own way when there’s someone who could be my strength when I feel weak? There’s power in being alone, but being with someone else doesn’t mean I have to give that up. I can be in a relationship without abandoning my sense of self.

You can geo-target a small buy. Or you can geo-target a big buy. We decided to geo-target an extremely big buy—in just one zip code: Anthony Weiner’s neighborhood. Every time Anthony opened his computer, we wanted him to see us. Every time he logged off, we wanted to be the last thing he saw. So we bought essentially all of the banner ads in Anthony’s zip code with the implicit message: If you run, this is going to happen everywhere and it’s not going to just say “Bloomberg for Mayor.” We already had “Weiner’s Naughty Hottie$” and “Weiner’s a Pucking Goof-Off” to work with. And it was still early.

Getting off is great, but He was a man who had sex, and lots of it, and in the worst locations, with the woman of his nightmares isn’t the inscription I want on my tombstone.

I have a half-drunk bottle of cheap white wine—she strikes me as the red type—a bouquet of flowers that I put on my chair and bounced on with my ass, and a box of coconut chocolates on the table. Ambrosia hates coconut like normal people hate expired milk or wasp stings. Probably because she’s allergic. If this doesn’t say I hate you, let’s go fuck in the back alley, I’ll have to accept the fact that I’ll spend

She squeezes back—lightly enough she could claim it was a twitch if she wanted to—and my heart melts. I’m done, ladies and gentlemen. Bro Berger won a gold medal in the orgasm Olympics, and now she’s hugging me. On purpose.

Hi. I’m Bailey. Can you tell me your name?” “I’m Mac,” he responds. “I’m a Macaw,” he continues. “I’m a hottie,” he crows. O M G! Mac is now preening his head back and forth and ruffling his feathers. He’s stunning and he’s right, he is a hottie! “Who are you?” Mac asks. “My name is Bailey and I live in the apartment upstairs now. You are a very smart bird, Mac,” I answer and praise him. “I is amazing,” he replies mangling the English language a bit. I start chuckling because he’s just too much. I want to hug him and then run away with him under my arm. I’ve never even considered stealing something before but Mac, I would gladly steal. That thought is reconsidered when he continues talking. “Big bazoongas, Bailey.” “Uh, what did you say?” I ask, certain I misunderstood. “Big bazoongas!” he screeches. I think a parrot just embarrassed me! Oh my god

After trying to bodysurf, the group decided to play with a beachball. “Lilian.” Kevin bumped the ball with an underhand hit that sent it sailing towards the redhead standing opposite of him. “Alex.” Lilian, in turn, hit the ball to Alex, who bumped it to Eric. “Gothic Hottie!” “Stop calling me that!” Despite her tsukkomi act, Christine didn’t miss a beat and hit the beach ball towards Andrew, who then bounced it at Iris. “Snow Wench.” Christine gritted her teeth as Iris gleefully smacked the ball towards her harder than necessary. “Fox Cunt.” In retaliation, Christine hit the ball twice as hard, not even bothering to hide that fact by lobbing it high like Iris had done. “Bitch Tits.” Iris returned the retaliation by reinforcing her muscles and smacking the ball again. The ball ended up getting whacked so hard that it was a wonder the thing didn’t pop. “Go suck a dick, bitch!” “Maybe later. And at least I can get a dick to suck. I’d be surprised if anyone wanted you touching theirs, flatty.” “I wouldn’t mind if Gothic Hottie sucked my—” “Not another word out of you, pervert!” “BUAFF!” And just like that, their game ended when Christine slammed the ball into Eric’s face, not only causing it to burst, but also sending the perverted lech into blissful catatonia.

I know I’m acting like a primitive Neanderthal, but I don’t care. I’ve spent too damn long without her and now that she’s in my life, I’m not letting her go.

You don’t want to date anyone else, though?” she asked. “No cuties in your class?” “Cuties?” I wrinkled my nose. “Cuties, hotties, dudes. Whatever,” she said. “Isn’t there anyone at home that you like?” “No, not really. There aren’t that many guys I’d want to date. And the ones I do like, usually like Emma first. Or . . . eventually.” “Yeah, I had a friend like that, too.” “You did?” Gretchen nodded. “Her name was Ashley.” “Her name’s not still Ashley?” I said. She glared at me. “You’re such a smart ass. No wonder you don’t have a boyfriend.

You asked me who I’d been seeing? The mystery guy?” “Ohhhhhh.” Emily’s eyes lit up at the promise of early morning gossip. “Why, yes. I do remember that.” Emily rested her chin on her hands, settling in for my story. “I don’t think you need me for this.” Simon threw up defensive hands and went into the kitchen in search of coffee. I gave him a thin smile of appreciation that he didn’t see, then I turned back to Emily and, for the first time, spilled the whole story. Of being so lonely I couldn’t handle it anymore. Of drinking one glass of wine too many and sending that first message to Dex. His response. Our emails. Texts. And realizing last night that it had all been a lie. “So . . .” While I’d been talking Emily refilled our coffee mugs, and now she sat down again, staring hard at my laptop. “All this time you thought it was Dex, but it was Daniel writing to you instead?” “Exactly.” I nodded emphatically. “Are you kidding me?” I jumped at Simon’s voice, harsher, angrier than I was used to hearing him. He was back, leaning against the archway again, his own mug of coffee in his hands. “What kind of Cyrano de Bergerac bullshit is that?” Emily clucked her tongue and turned in her chair. “I don’t know about that,” she said. “Of course it is!” He gestured to my laptop. “Look, I’ve known the Dueling Kilts for years. They’ve played the Faire since . . . well, I think since the first year we started hiring outside acts. And they’re great guys. But there’s no way that Dex MacLean could string together a coherent sentence, much less an elaborate email.” “Hey.” I felt a lick of defensive anger for the hottie I’d hooked up with. But then I thought about it and, well, Simon wasn’t wrong. Hadn’t I thought something similar when I’d first started hearing from Dex? Daniel? Who-the-hell-ever? “Okay, yeah,” I said. “That’s fair.” Simon’s smile wasn’t unkind as he finished his point. “Which means he got Daniel to write those emails for him. And that’s classic Cyrano.” “Yeah, but what about the texts?” Emily picked up my phone and waved it at him. “Daniel was using his own phone number. You think Dex was standing over his shoulder, telling him what to say?” “He could have been.” “I don’t think so. Besides, in the original play, Cyrano and Christian were both in love with Roxane, but Cyrano sacrificed his chance to be with her because he thought she loved Christian more. But we don’t know if that’s the case here. Maybe Daniel . . .” “What the hell is wrong with you two?” I closed my laptop with a snap and took my phone back from Emily. “You’re both nerds, you know that? In this century we don’t go straight for a Cyrano reference. We call it catfishing.” Simon snorted, and Emily bit down on her bottom lip, but amusement danced in her eyes. “Well, yeah. That’s true. But Simon does have a point.” “Of course I do.” He blew across the top of his mug before taking a sip. I narrowed my eyes at him. “Don’t you have sets to finish painting?

Stop, I said. Please do not further endorken yourself to me. You have a great hair, and a car that is most fly, and you have just saved me with your mad ninja driving skills, so do not sully your heroic hottie image in my mind by further reciting your nerdy scholastic agenda.

I don't aggressively approach every hottie I see like Pepé Le Pew from those Bugs Bunny cartoons. I use my intuition and assess the situation before making my attack. Come at her like a creepy perv with nothing to offer and you will repel her like Raid cockroach spray.

Teaser Stand By You, vol. 1 "Hey, Sleeping Beauty! Time to wake up!” Max’s voice wakes me up and I can feel the mattress sink down next to me. “Aloys, don’t make me kiss you to wake you up,” she says, “even though you wouldn’t really have to force me to do that.” Her laughter penetrates and I can feel my lips start to smile. “I’m awake, I don’t need a kiss.” “That’s too bad,” Max sighs. I sit up and glance in her direction. She’s wearing a black Stetson, smiling and greets me taking off her Stetson. “Howdy cowboy!” “Um, howdy cowgirl! “See that, I’m blending in with the locals!” “I did, and you’re doing a good job of it.” “I know,” she says, “I’m a hottie and just look at this pair of boots!” I raise my head to look at her feet, and she is wearing a nice pair of boots, her feet look tiny in them. “Sweet, you look like a real cowgirl now.” I sit straight up and watch her smiling when she looks at her boots. “Now I can walk in a huge cow pie!

He apologized, my hopeless vagina squeals. Let’s hump him. She’s on probation, so I ignore her.

I consider dropping her on her ass while she’s a pile of rotten jelly in my arms, but instead wait until her eyes focus again. Fucking gentleman of the year, that’s me.

This woman does abnormal, not-right things to my brain. And my body. And my mouth. “Bend over, cabbage face,” I order. “Why? You couldn’t find my g-spot with a flashlight and a guide.

It’s Bro. She’d tackle me in the produce aisle, rip my pants off, ride me like a donkey, and ask if me that was a microscopic needle in my pants or if the nice scientists in the asylum had noticed I was missing yet.

Wounded" The guy who put his hands on you Has got nothing to do with me And the bruises that you feel will heal And I hope you'll come around 'Cause we're missing you And you used to speak so easy Now you're afraid to talk to me It's like walking with the wounded Carrying that weight way too far The concrete pulled you down so hard Out there with the wounded Missing you Well I never claimed to understand what happens after dark But my fingers catch sparks at the thought of touching you When you're wounded Let me break it down 'till I force the issue We miss your face and you know I wish you Would come back down the the Dalva Bar You tell 'em, that's just my battle scar I want to kiss you And knock 'em down like we used to You're the marigold Till you're walking down shaking that ass again And then you walk on, baby walk on, you walk on, on and on You're an angel in the pit with her hands in the air And we're missing you Now it's fall, and your shoulders get tighter Nervous flicks on the lighter, boots Your pissed off poets, your women's groups And the friends with you, we should have known this fool Well I guess we missed the mark Still my fingers catch the sparks at the thought of them touching you Now you're wounded Let me break it down 'till I force the issue You never come around, and you know we miss you Well nobody took your pride away I said, that's something people say Back down the bully to the back of the bus 'Cause it's time for them to be scared of us 'Till you're yelling, how we living cause you got the ball Then you rock on baby, rock on, you rock on, on and on You're a summer time hottie with her socks in the air You're screaming I don't care baby I don't care You say you don't know You say you can't grow All I know is we're missing you You say you don't know You say you can't grow All I know is we're missing you Show up, show up wounded Show up, show up wounded

I get them wanting to sleep with Ford. I mean, my libido is off the charts every time he enters the room, but to wait outside for him to come out and hope he picks you out of a group of women? Have some self-respect, ladies.

The elevator dings and the doors slide open. Moving my mouth by her ear, I whisper, “Showtime, wifey.

I step aside and she walks past me as though she’s the fucking president or some shit. I slam the door and rest my forehead on it. Then I grab every ounce of patience and courage for what is surely going to be a shitty day.