Nope Not Today Quotes

Sorry." he said, rubbing his temples. "Do you have any Tylenol?" "Nope, sorry. Your doctor's appointment is today right?" "Yeah." "Here take this." Jenna rummaged in her purse and took out two tablets. Robbie squinted at them, then tossed them down with the rest of his soda. "What was that?" "Cyanide." said Sharon, and we laughed. "Actually, it was Midol." Jenna said. Matt whooped with laughter as Robbie gaped at her in dismay. "It'll really help." Jenna insisted. "It's what I take for my headaches." "Oh man." Robbie shook his head. I was almost doubled over with laughter. "Look at it this way," said Cal brightly. "You won't get that awful bloated feeling." "You'll feel pretty all day." suggested Matt, laughing so hard, he had to wipe his eyes.

If that’s the case for some baboon, just imagine humans. We have to learn our culture’s rationalizations and hypocrisies—thou shalt not kill, unless it’s one of them, in which case here’s a medal. Don’t lie, except if there’s a huge payoff, or it’s a profoundly good act (“Nope, no refugees hiding in my attic, no siree”). Laws to be followed strictly, laws to be ignored, laws to be resisted. Reconciling acting as if each day is your last with today being the first day of the rest of your life.

Tristan’s Mom: What are these? Tristan: Your granddaughters. Tristan’s Dad: Don’t worry honey, you don’t look old enough to be a mother let alone a grandmother. Tristan’s Mom: Again with the flattery, thank you dear. Where did they come from? Tristan: Camie gave birth last night. Jeff: I didn’t know she was pregnant. Tristan: She wasn’t. It was a miracle. Tristan’s Mom: Do they have names? Tristan: Phineas and Ferb. Jeff: From the cartoon? Tristan’s Dad: That figures, he named the dog Scooby. Tristan’s Mom: They sound like boy names. Tristan: Mom! Shhh, you’ll give them a complex. Jeff: If that Ferb one climbs my legs again I’m drop kicking it. Tristan: That’s child abuse and I’ll press charges. Besides, they just miss their mom. Jeff: I’m calling CPS (cat protective services)… Tristan: What for? Jeff: Because you’re making your kids live in a broken home unnecessarily. Tristan: I’m not talking to you anymore. Jeff: Fine, as long as you to talk to her. Tristan: Back off. Jeff: Nope, not gonna do it. Tristan: I’m warning you man. Jeff: You miss her too. Tristan: Yeah, so? Jeff: So do something about it. Tristan: Happy? Last night was miserable and I think it’s too late. Jeff: You still have a 12 year old ace in the hole. Tristan: Saving it as a last resort. Tristan’s Dad: Honey, do you have a clue as to what they’re talking about? Tristan’s Mom: No and I don’t want one. Jeff: I’m just helping my nieces get their parents back together. Dude, it’s time. Make the call. Tristan: Alright, I did it. But I get the feeling I’m about to do business with the mob. I hope I don’t wake up with the head of my horse in bed with me tonight. Jeff: Well, a good father will do anything he can to protect his family, even if that means he runs the risk of sleeping with the fishes. Tristan: Okay girls, your aunt helped Daddy come up with a plan and if it works you should get to see Mommy today. Cross your paws, or claws, or whatever…just cross something for luck.

Good Morning." "You're not at work," he said, his voice raspier, sexier, than usual. "Neither are you." "Are you going in late?" "Nope. And you're not either." I went to him, wrapping my arms around his waist. He was still warm from the bed. My sleepy, sensual dream come true. "We're going to hole up today, ace. Just you and me hanging out in our pajamas and relexing.

Okay, nope. No fainting for you. Not today.” His reflexes were subpar at best, and the last thing he wanted was her to sustain injury during the fall.

Sorry about the question thing," Butch said to the black robes. "But I just... I'm glad I know what's in my veins. And honestly, if I die today, I'm grateful I finally know what I am." He took Marissa's hand. "And who I love. If this is where my life took me after all those years of being lost, I'd say my time here wasn't wasted." There was a long silence. Then the Scribe Virgin said, "Do you regret that you leave behind your human family?" "Nope. This is my family. Here with me now and elsewhere in the compound. Why would I need anything else?" The cursing in the room told him he'd thrown another question out there. "Yeah.. ah, sorry-" A soft feminine laugh came from under the robes. "You are rather fearless,human." "Or you could call it stupid." As Wrath's mouth fell open, Butch rubbed his face. "You know, I'm trying here. I really am. You know, to be respectful." "Your hand, human." He offered his left, the one that was free. "Palm up," Wrath barked. He flipped his hand over. "Tell me, human," the Scribe Virgin said, "if I asked for the one you hold this female with, would you offer it to me?" "Yeah. I'd just reach over to her with the other guy." As that little laugh came again, he said, "You know, you sound like birds when you do that chuckle thing. It's nice." Over to the left, Vishous put his head in his hands. There was a long silence. Butch took a deep breath. "Guess I'm not allowed to say that.

You haven't stopped smiling since you came in." "You want me to yell?" "No, no," Buddy hastily assured him. "You just keep right on smiling." He picked delicately at the remaining pie. "You sure did sleep late today." Tate grinned at him. "Yep." "Didn't go fishing, either." "Nope." "Sure was a lot of tromping around going on upstairs a few minutes ago. What were you doing?" "Just moving a few things." Tate took a drink of coffee. "What things?" He was beginning to wish he'd strangled Buddy at birth. "My things." "Were you moving them somewhere in particular, or just dragging them up and down the hall for the exercise?" Tate ground his teeth together. "I was moving them to Abby's room." "Oh." Buddy gave a half grin. "Can I have some money?" "No." Tate glared at him. "Well, it was worth a shot. I should have asked while you were still smiling.

Child, your lesson for today is to drink wine.” “What ? But teacher, doesn’t the Sun Knight have a low tolerance for drink ?” “The Sun Knight always forgives others, but have you ever really forgiven someone ?” “Nope.” “The Sun Knight always wears a smile, but how many times have you really smiled from the bottom of your heart ?” “Only a few times...” “The Sun Knight is a benevolent spokesperson, but are you really benevolent ?” “...” “Child, if you have a low tolerance for drink, then how are you going to make sure that after drinking, you’ll still be able to maintain the image of the Sun Knight as someone who turns red on the first cup, has a headache with the second cup, and topples over unconscious after the third ? So you see, the idea that the Sun Knight has low tolerance for drink is actually founded on the premise that the Sun Knight cannot be defeated by drink.” This argument might sound really reasonable, but when I think about it carefully, it seems to be full of contradictions as well ! “Drink up, child. You have to drink wine every night for the next month, until you can drink wine like it’s just water.” “...” The year I turned twelve, I became someone who could drink wine as easily as water, an undefeatable drinker, all for the sake of the Sun Knight’s image as a lightweight drinker.

Can you imagine? You’re on your deathbed, and you’re saying this to your family: “I’m glad I watched so many FAIL compilations on YouTube.” Nope. You’ll probably look back and reflect on the time you spent with your family or friends. Or the memories you made when you were traveling. Or how much you enjoyed your work.

It doesn't feel like teasing when you go out of your way to make me feel like garbage for liking what I like. I already have to defend it enough with my parents, and with my friends. Like, I get it, ha ha, sometimes there are shirtless men on the covers. But what I'll never understand is why people are so quick to trash this one thing that's always been for women first. They won't let us have this one thing that makes us happy. Nope, if you like romance novels, you have zero taste or you're a lonely spinster.

After dinner the Texan invited Cochran to accompany him to a whorehouse but he declined saying he'd feed, walk and water the horse. 'Strikes me you had a big day and some poontang might ease your mind.' 'Nope. Killed a man I hated today and I don't want to mix my pleasures. I want to lay in bed and think how good it felt.' The Texan nodded and lit a cigar. He was no man's fool.

Business or no, today I would've taken 'im on if you hadn't," Nick replied soberly. "Was that you who yelled at me to tromp 'im?" Rider grinned. "Nope,that was me," Gavn confessed, unabashed.

Like, I get it, ha ha, sometimes there are shirtless men on the covers. But what I’ll never understand is why people are so quick to trash this one thing that’s always been for women first. They won’t let us have this one thing that isn’t hurting anyone and makes us happy. Nope, if you like romance novels, you have zero taste or you’re a lonely spinster.

Dell pulled out his cell phone, speed-dialed a number, and put the phone on speaker. A woman answered with a professionally irritated tone: “What do you need now?” “Jade,” Dell said. “Nope, it’s the Easter Bunny. And your keys are on your desk.” Dell shook his head. “Now darlin’, I don’t always call you just because I’ve lost my keys.” “I’m sorry, you’re right. You wallet’s on your desk, too. As for your little black book, you’re on your own with that one, Dr. Flirt. I’m at lunch.” Dell sighed. “What did we say about you and the whole power-play thing?” “That it’s good for your ego to have at least one woman in your life that you can’t flash a smile at and have them drop their panties?” Dell grinned. “I really like it when you say ‘panties.’ And for the record, I knew where my keys and wallet were.” “No you didn’t.” “Okay, I didn’t, but that’s not why I’m calling. Can you bring burgers and fries for me and Brady? Oh, and Adam, too, or he’ll bitch like a little girl.” “You mean ‘Jade, will you pretty please bring us burgers and fries?’” “Yes,” Dell said, nodding. “That. And Cokes.” He looked at Brady, who nodded. “And don’t forget the ketchup.” “You forgot the nice words.” “Oh, I’m sorry,” Dell said. “You look fantastic today, I especially love the attitude and sarcasm you’re wearing.” Jade’s voice went saccharine sweet. “So some low-fat chicken salads, no dressing, and ice water to go, then?” “Fine,” Dell said, and sighed. “Can we please have burgers and fries?" “You forgot the ‘Thank you, Goddess Jade,’ but we’ll work on that. Later, boss.

Galen picking you up for school?" "No, I'm driving myself." Vinegar turns to acid. Sure, it's irritating to take a lukewarm shower when you intended to scald the flesh from your body. But not being able to see Galen today is more disappointing than not having hot water all winter. And I hate it. Spending all of yesterday with him slaughtered my intention of keeping him at a distance. Even if he weren't worthy of his own billboard underwear ad, he's just too likeable. Except for his habit of almost-kissing me. But his obsession with trying to order me around is too cute. Especially the way his mouth gets all pouty when I don't listen. "You two fighting already?" She's fishing, but for what I don't know. Shrugging seems safe until I can figure out what she wants to hear. "Do you fight often?" Shrugging again, I ladle enough oatmeal into my mouth to make talking impossible for at least a minute, which is more than enough time for her to drop it. It doesn't work. After the exaggerated minute, I reach for my glass of milk. "You know, if he ever hit you-" The glass in mid-tilt, I swallow before the milk can escape through my nose. "Mom, he would never hit me!" "I didn't say he would." "Good, because he wouldn't. Ever. What's with you? Do you have to interrogate me about Galen every time you see me?" This time she shrugs. "Seems like the right thing to do. When you have children, you'll understand." "I'm not stupid. If Galen acts up, I'll either dump him or kill him. You have my word." Mom laughs and butters my muffin. "I guess I can't ask for more than that." Accepting the muffin-and the truce-I say, "Nope. Anything more would be unreasonable." "Just remember, I'm watching you like a hawk. Except for right now, because I'm going to bed.

Good morning, Sunshine,” Alessandro whispered, dragging the satiny soft object across the tip of her nose. Curiosity made her open her eyes. A rose. A blue rose. “I figured a single rose was safer than a dozen considering the massacre of the last blue roses I gave you,” he smiled sheepishly. “Happy birthday, darling.” Bree blinked and tried to remember what day it was. The fifteenth apparently. She groaned and pulled the blankets back over her head. She was officially thirty today. “Come on now, up we go,” Alessandro pulled the blankets off her face and grabbed her arm, bringing her up. “For my birthday, I want sleep,” she groaned. Gianni had suffered through a painful night as another tooth was starting to come in and thus his parents had suffered as well. “Nope, we’ve got a long day ahead of us. Let’s go.” “Why?” Bree yawned. “Because thirty years ago you were born and my life as I knew it would never be the same,” Alessandro explained, nuzzling her neck.

Five years from today. Where, exactly, do you want to be?" Her eyes lit up. Sadie loves that kind of question. "Ooh. Wow. Let me think. December, getting close to Christmas. I'll be twenty-one..." "Passed out under the tree with a fifth of Jack, half a 7-Eleven rotisserie chicken, and a cat who poops in your shoes." Frankie returned our startled glances with his lizard look. "Oh, wait. That's me. Sorry." I opted to ignore him. "Five years to the day,Sadie." She glanced quickly between Frankie and me. "Do we need a time-out here?" "Nope," I said. "Carry on." "Okay. Five years. I will be in New York visiting the pair of you because, while NYU is fab, I will be halfwau through my final year of classics at Cambridge, trying to decide whether I want to be a psychologist or a pastry chef. You," she said sternly to Frankie, "will be drinking appropriate amounds of champagne with your boyfriend, a six-three blond from Helsinki who happens to design for Tory Burch. Ah! Don't say anything. It's my future. You can choose a different designer when it's you go. I want the Tory freebies." She turned to me. "We will be sipping said champagne in the middle of the Gagosian Galley, because it is the opening night of your first solo exhibit. At which everything will sell." She punctuated the sentence by poking the air with a speared black olive. "I love you," I told her. Then, "But that wasn't really about you." "Oh,but it was," she disagreed, going back to her salad. "It's exactly where I want to be. Although" -she grinned over a tomato wedge- "I might have the next David Beckham in tow." "The next David Beckham is a five-foot-tall Welshman named Madog Cadwalader. He has extra teeth and bow legs." "Really?" Sadie asked. Frankie snorted. "No.Not really.

He always that overprotective?' Xaden grumbles, pressing up from the mat a few inches. 'He cares about me,' I glare at him. 'He's holding you back. Don't worry. Your little poisoning secret is safe with me.' Xaden arches a brow as if to remind me that I'm the keeper of one of his secrets, too. Then he guides our hands back to my ribs and slides the ruby-hilted blade back into its sheath. The move is unnervingly... hot. 'You're not going to disarm me?' I challenge as he releases his grip and pushes up move, removing his weight from my body. My ribs expand as I take my first full breath. 'Nope. Defenceless women have never been my type. We're done for today.

One remarkable part of the SnapTax story is what the team leaders said when I asked them to account for their unlikely success. Did they hire superstar entrepreneurs from outside the company? No, they assembled a team from within Intuit. Did they face constant meddling from senior management, which is the bane of innovation teams in many companies? No, their executive sponsors created an “island of freedom” where they could experiment as necessary. Did they have a huge team, a large budget, and lots of marketing dollars? Nope, they started with a team of five. What allowed the SnapTax team to innovate was not their genes, destiny, or astrological signs but a process deliberately facilitated by Intuit’s senior management.

Paul reached out his hand and introduced himself. And without waiting to be introduced she whipped out her hand and said, “Hi! I’m Jamie Boyd!” And right away she was talking a mile a minute. She was so chipper I couldn’t help but smile. I was like that little dog in Looney Toons who is always following the big bulldog around shouting, “What are we going to do today, Spike?” She was adorable. She started firing off questions, one of which really caught my attention. “So you were in the Army? What was your MOS?” she asked. Now, MOS is a military term most civilians have never heard. It stands for Military Occupational Specialty. It’s basically military code for “job.” So instead of just asking me what my job was in the Army, she knew enough to specifically ask me what my MOS was. I was impressed. “Eleven Bravo. Were you in?” I replied. “Nope! But I’ve thought about it. I still think one day I will join the Army.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. Probably Olivia. She shimmied it out and looked at the screen. Beau. Could this night get any worse? She’d seen him today from a distance and had managed to steer Travis a different direction. She shut off the ringer and pocketed the phone. “Not gonna answer?” “Nope.” The fireworks picked up overhead, colorful blooms with thunderous booms and pops. The sounds ricocheted off the mountains. She’d never been so glad to see the finale. “Was it Meyers?” She sighed. What business was it of his? It was her phone, her life. “He has no business calling you.” For pity’s sake. “Just a phone call, Travis.” “You’re a married woman.” “Barely.” “Can’t be barely married—you either are or you’re not—and I have a certificate that says we are.” The fireworks fizzled to nothing but darkness and silence. “It’s over.” Relieved, Shay sat up and inched toward the tailgate, but not before Travis’s quiet response reached her ears. “Not by a long shot.

Emma, calm down. I had to know-" I point my finger in his face, almost touching his eyeball. "It's one thing for me to give your permission to look into it. But I'm pretty sure looking into it without my consent is illegal. In fact, I'm pretty sure everything that woman does is illegal. Do you even know what the Mafia is, Galen?" His eyebrows lift in surprise. "She told you who she is? I mean, who she used to be?" I nod. "While you were checking in with Grom. Once in the Mob, always in the Mob, if you ask me. How else would she get all her money? But I guess you wouldn't care about that, since she buys you houses and cars and fake IDs." I snatch my wrist away and turn back toward our hotel. At least, I hope it's our hotel. Galen laughs. "Emma, it's not Rachel's money; it's mine." I whirl on him. "You are a fish. You don't have a job. And I don't think Syrena currency has any of our presidents on it." Now "our" means I'm human again. I wish I could make up my mind. He crosses his arms. "I earn it another way. Walk to the Gulfarium with me, and I'll tell you how." The temptation divides me like a cleaver. I'm one part hissy fit and one part swoon. I have a right to be mad, to press charges, to cut Rachel's hair while she's sleeping. But do I really want to risk the chance that she keeps a gun under her pillow? Do I want to miss the opportunity to scrunch my toes in the sand and listen to Galen's rich voice tell me how a fish came to be wealthy? Nope, I don't. Taking care to ram my shoulder into him, I march past him and hopefully in the right direction. When he catches up to me, his grin threatens the rest of my hissy fit side, so I turn away, fixing my glare on the waves. "I sell stuff to humans," he says. I glance at him. He's looking at me, his expression every bit as expectant as I feel. I hate this little game of ours. Maybe because I'm no good at it. He won't tell me more unless I ask. Curiosity is one of my most incurable flaws-and Galen knows it. Still, I already gave up a perfectly good tantrum for him, so I feel like he owes me. Never mind that he saved my life today. That was so two hours ago. I lift my chin. "Rachel says I'm a millionaire," he says, his little knowing smirk scrubbing my nerves like a Brillo pad. "But for me, it's not about the money. Like you, I have a soft spot for history." Crap, crap, crap. How can he already know me this well? I must be as readable as the alphabet. What's the use? He's going to win, every time.

I saw her as soon as I pulled into the parking lot. This beautiful woman with a gigantic smile on her face was just about bouncing up and down despite the orthopedic boot she had on her foot as she waved me into a parking space. I felt like I’d been hit in the gut. She took my breath away. She was dressed in workout clothes, her long brown hair softly framing her face, and she just glowed. I composed myself and got out of the car. She was standing with Paul Orr, the radio host I was there to meet. Local press had become fairly routine for me at this point, so I hadn’t really given it much thought when I agreed to be a guest on the afternoon drive-time show for WZZK. But I had no idea I’d meet her. Paul reached out his hand and introduced himself. And without waiting to be introduced she whipped out her hand and said, “Hi! I’m Jamie Boyd!” And right away she was talking a mile a minute. She was so chipper I couldn’t help but smile. I was like that little dog in Looney Toons who is always following the big bulldog around shouting, “What are we going to do today, Spike?” She was adorable. She started firing off questions, one of which really caught my attention. “So you were in the Army? What was your MOS?” she asked. Now, MOS is a military term most civilians have never heard. It stands for Military Occupational Specialty. It’s basically military code for “job.” So instead of just asking me what my job was in the Army, she knew enough to specifically ask me what my MOS was. I was impressed. “Eleven Bravo. Were you in?” I replied. “Nope! But I’ve thought about it. I still think one day I will join the Army.” We followed Paul inside and as he set things up and got ready for his show, Jamie and I talked nonstop. She, too, was really into fitness. She was dressed and ready for the gym and told me she was about to leave to get in a quick workout before her shift on-air. “Yeah, I have the shift after Paul Orr. The seven-to-midnight show. I call it the Jammin’ with Jamie Show. People call in and I’ll ask them if they’re cryin’, laughin’, lovin’, or leavin’.” I couldn’t believe how into this girl I was, and we’d only been talking for twenty minutes. I was also dressed in gym clothes, because I’d been to the gym earlier. She looked down and saw the rubber bracelet around my wrist. “Is that an ‘I Am Second’ bracelet? I have one of those!” she said as she held up her wrist with the band that means, “I am second after Jesus.” “No, this is my own bracelet with my motto, ‘Train like a Machine,’ on it. Just my little self-motivator. I have some in my car. I’d love to give you one.” “Well, actually, I am about to leave. I have to go work out before my shift,” she reminded me. “You can have this one. Take it off my wrist. This one will be worth more someday because I’ve been sweating in it,” I joked. She laughed and took it off my wrist. We kept chatting and she told me she had wanted to do an obstacle course race for a long time. Then Paul interrupted our conversation and gently reminded Jamie he had a show to do. He and I needed to start our interview. She laughed some more and smiled her way out the door.

In an internal panic, I picked up the phone and hurriedly pushed redial. I had to catch Rhonda the Realtor, had to tell her wait, hold off, don’t let it go, I’m not sure, hang on, give me another day…or two…or three. But when the numbers finished dialing, I heard no ringing; instead, in a perfect moment of irony, coincidence, and serendipity, I heard Marlboro Man’s voice on the other end. “Hello?” he asked. “Oh,” I replied. “Hello?” “Hey, you,” he replied. So much for calling Rhonda the Realtor. Three seconds into the phone call, Marlboro Man’s voice had already taken hold. His voice. It weakened my knees, destroyed my focus, ruined my resolve. When I heard his voice, I could think of nothing but wanting to see him again, to be in his presence, to drink him in, to melt like butter in his impossibly strong arms. When I heard his voice, Chicago became nothing but a distant memory. “What’re you up to?” he continued. I could hear cattle in the background. “Oh, just getting a few things done,” I said. “Just tying up a few loose ends.” “You’re not moving to Chicago today, are you?” he said with a chuckle. He was only halfway joking. I laughed, rolling over in my bed and fiddling with the eyelet ruffle on my comforter. “Nope, not today,” I answered. “What are you doing?” “Coming to pick you up in a little bit,” he said. I loved it when he took charge. It made my heart skip a beat, made me feel flushed and excited and thrilled. After four years with J, I was sick and tired of the surfer mentality. Laid-back, I’d discovered, was no longer something I wanted in a man. And when it came to his affection for me, Marlboro Man was anything but that. “I’ll be there at five.” Yes, sir. Anything you say, sir. I’ll be ready. With bells on.

I need to check your vitals, hon,” she explained. It had been several hours since I’d given birth. I guess this was the routine. She felt my pulse, palpated my legs, asked if I had pain anywhere, and lightly pressed on my abdomen, the whole while making sure I wasn’t showing signs of a blockage or a blood clot, a fever or a hemorrhage. I stared dreamily at Marlboro Man, who gave me a wink or two. I hoped he would, in time, be able to see past the vomit. The nurse then began a battery of questions. “So, no pain?” “Nope. I feel fine now.” “No chills?” “Not at all.” “Have you been able to pass gas in the past few hours?” *Insert awkward ten-second pause* I couldn’t have heard her right. “What?” I asked, staring at her. “Have you been able to pass gas lightly?” *Another awkward pause* What kind of question is this? “Wait…,” I asked. “What?” “Sweetie, have you been able to pass gas today?” I stared at her blankly. “I don’t…” “…Pass gas? You? Today?” She was unrelenting. I continued my blank, desperate stare, completely incapable of registering her question. Throughout the entire course of my pregnancy, I’d gone to great lengths to maintain a certain level of glamour and vanity. Even during labor, I’d attempted to remain the ever-fresh and vibrant new wife, going so far as to reapply tinted lip balm before the epidural so I wouldn’t look pale. I’d also restrained myself during the pushing stage, afraid I’d lose control of my bowels, which would have been the kiss of death upon my pride and my marriage; I would have had to just divorce my husband and start fresh with someone else. I had never once so much as passed gas in front of Marlboro Man. As far as he was concerned, my body lacked this function altogether. So why was I being forced to answer these questions now? I hadn’t done anything wrong. “I’m sorry…,” I stammered. “I don’t understand the question…” The nurse began again, seemingly unconcerned with my lack of comprehension skills. “Have you…” Marlboro Man, lovingly holding our baby and patiently listening all this time from across the room, couldn’t take it anymore. “Honey! She wants to know if you’ve been able to fart today!” The nurse giggled. “Okay, well maybe that’s a little more clear.” I pulled the covers over my head. I was not having this discussion.

He returned to the table with a pile of pastries and two coffees. “Hungry?” she asked. “Let’s figure out what you like.” He waved at the pastries. How thoughtful. She picked up a small biscuit cookie to nibble but shook her head. “Too crunchy.” “Try the scone,” he recommended. One bite. “Nope. No scones. Maybe I’m not a pastry person.” “I’m taking notes over here.” He almost spit out his sip of coffee from laughter when she had to empty her mouth into a small napkin after biting into a cheesy sweet concoction. “Sorry.” Her face went hot. “I’ll stick with croissants. What about you? What do you like?” He shrugged. “I’m not picky.” “Is it bad to be picky? Does it mean I’m high maintenance?” “Maybe you’re not into sweets.” “If I dribbled chocolate all over you, I’d lick it off and like it.” She slapped a hand over her mouth. “Did I just say that out loud? Forget I said that.” “No undoing that. It’s stuck in here.” He tapped his head. “Moon madness.” “It’s mid-morning. There’s no moon in the sky.” He peeked out the window. “Maybe not a full moon, but there’s one in the sky. This insanity is our bodies cranking up for the main event later today.” His eyes traveled down her body and back up; he wet his lips with his tongue. Her mind flashed back to the moment his lips were on hers, the way his fingers had dug into her, the desperation flowing from his fingertips. Things were about to get a lot more interesting as the day wore on. In silence, they ate for a while. She leaned back and stared at him. “You may have to answer to someone, but you like what you do most of the time. Why do you do it? Save humans against things that bump in the night?” “I’m cursed to follow orders.” “Sure, you’re forced into some things, but that only goes so far.” He wiped a few crumbs off the table. “Perhaps so. It’s a good cause. Most of the time. Occasionally, the missions we’re ordered on are based on erroneous information.” She reached out and put her hand over his. “I might be as bad as they made me out. I don’t remember. I appreciate you trying to help me figure it out, but if I start to show an inclination toward evil or world domination, do your job.” He rotated his hand to hold hers and stared at their connection. “The fact you considered it means you’re not someone I should kill.” “We don’t know.” She removed her hand from his. “Tell me something about yourself. What pastry do you like? Are you a scones person?” He shook his head. “I’m not into a lot of sweets, but I’ve realized I like chocolate.

He called the next morning at seven. I was sound asleep, still dreaming about the kiss that had rocked my existence the night before. Marlboro Man, on the other hand, had been up since five and, he would explain, had waited two hours before calling me, since he reckoned I probably wasn’t the get-up-early type. And I wasn’t. I’d never seen any practical reason for any normal person to get out of bed before 8:00 A.M., and besides that, the kiss had been pretty darn earth shattering. I needed to sleep that thing off. “Good morning,” he said. I gasped. That voice. There it was again. “Oh, hi!” I replied, shooting out of bed and trying to act like I’d been up for hours doing step aerobics and trimming my mom’s azalea bushes. And hiking. “You asleep?” he asked. “Nope, nope, not at all!” I replied. “Not one bit.” My voice was thick and scratchy. “You were asleep, weren’t you?” I guess he knew a late sleeper than he heard one. “No, I wasn’t--I get up really early,” I said. “I’m a real morning person.” I concealed a deep, total-body yawn. “That’s strange--your voice sounds like you were still asleep,” Marlboro Man persisted. He wasn’t letting me off the hook. “Oh…well…it’s just that I haven’t talked to anyone yet today, plus I’ve kind of been fighting a little sinus trouble,” I said. That was attractive. “But I’ve been up for quite a while.” “Yeah? What have you been doing?” he asked. He was enjoying this. “Oh, you know. Stuff.” Stuff. Good one, Ree. “Really? Like, what kind of stuff?” he asked. I heard him chuckle softly, the same way he’d chuckled when he’d caught me the night before. That chuckle could quiet stormy waters. Bring about world peace. “Oh, just stuff. Early morning stuff. Stuff I do when I get up really early in the morning…” I tried again to sound convincing. “Well,” he said, “I don’t want to keep you from your ‘early morning stuff.’ I just wanted to tell you…I wanted to tell you I had a really good time last night.” “You did?” I replied, picking sleepy sand from the corner of my right eye. “I did,” he said. I smiled, closing my eyes. What was happening to me? This cowboy--this sexy cowboy who’d suddenly galloped into my life, who’d instantly plunged me into some kind of vintage romance novel--had called me within hours of kissing me on my doorstep, just to tell me he’d had a good time. “Me, too,” was all I could say. Boy, was I on a roll. You know, stuff, and Me, too, all in the same conversation. This guy was sure to be floored by my eloquence. I was so smitten, I couldn’t even formulate coherent words. I was in trouble.

Dear KDP Author, Just ahead of World War II, there was a radical invention that shook the foundations of book publishing. It was the paperback book. This was a time when movie tickets cost 10 or 20 cents, and books cost $2.50. The new paperback cost 25 cents – it was ten times cheaper. Readers loved the paperback and millions of copies were sold in just the first year. With it being so inexpensive and with so many more people able to afford to buy and read books, you would think the literary establishment of the day would have celebrated the invention of the paperback, yes? Nope. Instead, they dug in and circled the wagons. They believed low cost paperbacks would destroy literary culture and harm the industry (not to mention their own bank accounts). Many bookstores refused to stock them, and the early paperback publishers had to use unconventional methods of distribution – places like newsstands and drugstores. The famous author George Orwell came out publicly and said about the new paperback format, if “publishers had any sense, they would combine against them and suppress them.” Yes, George Orwell was suggesting collusion. Well… history doesn’t repeat itself, but it does rhyme. Fast forward to today, and it’s the e-book’s turn to be opposed by the literary establishment. Amazon and Hachette – a big US publisher and part of a $10 billion media conglomerate – are in the middle of a business dispute about e-books. We want lower e-book prices. Hachette does not. Many e-books are being released at $14.99 and even $19.99. That is unjustifiably high for an e-book. With an e-book, there’s no printing, no over-printing, no need to forecast, no returns, no lost sales due to out of stock, no warehousing costs, no transportation costs, and there is no secondary market – e-books cannot be resold as used books. E-books can and should be less expensive. Perhaps channeling Orwell’s decades old suggestion, Hachette has already been caught illegally colluding with its competitors to raise e-book prices. So far those parties have paid $166 million in penalties and restitution. Colluding with its competitors to raise prices wasn’t only illegal, it was also highly disrespectful to Hachette’s readers. The fact is many established incumbents in the industry have taken the position that lower e-book prices will “devalue books” and hurt “Arts and Letters.” They’re wrong. Just as paperbacks did not destroy book culture despite being ten times cheaper, neither will e-books. On the contrary, paperbacks ended up rejuvenating the book industry and making it stronger. The same will happen with e-books. Many inside the echo-chamber of the industry often draw the box too small. They think books only compete against books. But in reality, books compete against mobile games, television, movies, Facebook, blogs, free news sites and more. If we want a healthy reading culture, we have to work hard to be sure books actually are competitive against these other media types, and a big part of that is working hard to make books less expensive. Moreover, e-books are highly price elastic. This means that when the price goes down, customers buy much more. We've quantified the price elasticity of e-books from repeated measurements across many titles. For every copy an e-book would sell at $14.99, it would sell 1.74 copies if priced at $9.99. So, for example, if customers would buy 100,000 copies of a particular e-book at $14.99, then customers would buy 174,000 copies of that same e-book at $9.99. Total revenue at $14.99 would be $1,499,000. Total revenue at $9.99 is $1,738,000. The important thing to note here is that the lower price is good for all parties involved: the customer is paying 33% less and the author is getting a royalty check 16% larger and being read by an audience that’s 74% larger. The pie is simply bigger.

Sam,” he said, “I knew what you were when you walked into my office.” “Why? Because Cricket told you?” “Nope.” “Then how? I didn’t wear my ‘I’m A Werewolf, Ask Me How’ button today.

executive assistant. “Mrs. Albrecht, how are you today?” “Very well. I just got here and thought maybe I had missed you.” “Nope. I just got here too.” “Come in, please.” The house had a two-story entry area

Hmmm, just about perfect.” She gazed up at me, her face radiant. “Really? Did something special happen at the café?” There was something decidedly different about her today. She practically glowed from the inside out. She shook her head. “Nope. Just a regular day filled with chocolate cupcakes, chai tea, and Pyper badgering me about what we were celebrating.

Did they hire superstar entrepreneurs from outside the company? No, they assembled a team from within Intuit. Did they face constant meddling from senior management, which is the bane of innovation teams in many companies? No, their executive sponsors created an “island of freedom” where they could experiment as necessary. Did they have a huge team, a large budget, and lots of marketing dollars? Nope, they started with a team of five.

Nope. Not today, Satan. Stop tempting me.

Pizza?' he asks. 'Obviously. Your shout, though.' We start walking back to the car. 'How d'you figure that?' 'For services rendered. Plus, you're the only one with a job, and I spent my last ten bucks on coffee today.' 'Did you also drop it and then say "fuck" in front of a small child?' 'Are you ever going to stop bringing that up?' 'Nope.' 'Prick.' 'Dickhead.' 'Knob.' 'Drama queen.' 'Man-whore.' 'Spinster.' He unlocks the car. 'Pepperoni, then?' 'Yeah.

Sure, we did. The grim reaper saw us and said ‘nope, not today, fuckers’, then left.” I laugh even harder at Trotter’s statement.

Oh, I’ve never heard an audible voice. Nope, when God talks to me it is through his word, his Spirit, or through a friend.” Aunt Lisa opened Ms. Lorna’s Bible sitting on the side table. “If I open this Bible, I can read verses that define me as God says I am. Such as Ephesians 2:10 which says, ‘For we are God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.’ When I read this verse, I can hear the quiet whisper of my Heavenly Father whisperin’ into my ear, ‘Lisa, you’re my daughter whom I love. I have a plan for you today, a purpose uniquely designed just for you.’ This gives me hope in a fallen world.

You should've seen her in class today. She was desperately trying to get our professor's attention. I think she's mad at me because he called on me first.” “Look at you! That's my girl! You actually raised your hand, huh?” “Nope. In fact, I was the only one that didn't raise their hand. He said that's why he called on me.

I saw what was going to happen today and this is the only chance we had to stop it. And seeing as you vowed to marry Mildred in ‘clarity and honesty’ but I was really just a disguised dude in a dress, those vows don't mean shit. Didn't you notice the lack of magic binding you after you made them?" he asked, pulling open a drawer and tugging a pair of jeans and a black sweater on. "I guess I was more focused on being forced to marry that beast while the girl I really love had to watch," I growled, but even though I felt seriously pissed, his words were slowly sinking in. "Wait, so...I'm not really married?" "Nope. And as fantastic as I'm sure you are in bed, I've got some pretty strict rules about not getting fucked by a Dragon, so I had to stop you," he joked.

Nope. Not going to happen, Miss Bingley. Not today, not ever, not even if I were dying and you were the only cure.

SCORPIUS leans ominously over ALBUS’S headboard. SCORPIUS: Albus . . . Psst . . . Albus. Albus doesn’t wake. ALBUS! Albus wakes with a shock. SCORPIUS laughs. ALBUS: Pleasant. That’s a pleasant and not scary way to wake up. SCORPIUS: You know it’s the strangest of things, but ever since being in the scariest place imaginable I’m pretty much good with fear. I am—Scorpius the Dreadless. I am—Malfoy the Unanxious. ALBUS: Good. SCORPIUS: I mean, normally, being in lockdown, being in constant detention, it’d break me, but now—what’s the worst they can do? Bring back Moldy Voldy and have him torture me? Nope. ALBUS: You’re scary when you’re in a good mood, you know that? SCORPIUS: When Rose came up to me today in Potions and called me Bread Head I almost hugged her. No, there is no almost about it, I actually tried to hug her, and then she kicked me in the shin. ALBUS: I’m not sure being fearless is going to be good for your health.

For me, it would like to really be authentic. And what I mean by that is: you're not authentic when you're being a caricature of yourself. You're not authentic when you see something working for you and you're getting rewarded for it so you start doubling and tripling down on that thing. You're not authentic when you're being a second rate version of somebody else instead of a first rate version of yourself. … You can start to believe your own bullshit. That's the worst, when you get into character and start believing that you really are this dude. So it's like, for me, man, that's what made me like really start like going to therapy and like doing the work, cause I did not like the version of myself that I was becoming. So my advice to anybody would just to just be authentic, always leave yourself open to growth, and don't be afraid of where that growth takes you. I don't give a fuck what people like about you today: if you're growing into something else tomorrow, follow that shit. You know what I mean? Because, if you don't, you're really just stunting your growth, and you really don't know how big you could possibly be. You're putting a cap on you. Like, you're literally putting a limit on how far you could possibly grow, how big you could get, because you're like ‘nope, that's what they like about me, so Imma keep it here.’ As opposed to just leaving yourself open to see what else is out there and how much more you could contribute to grow. So that's what I tell people: be authentic, man, and don't be afraid to grow.

I don’t know what to do with myself all alone with Matt, so I start to load the dishwasher with today’s dishes. Matt picks up plates and cups from the table and helps me. “Careful, or I’ll get used to having you around,” I warn playfully. He looks directly into my eyes. “Good. That’s what I’m going for.” My breath hitches, and I have to turn away so that I’m not facing him. I lay my hands flat on the counter and take a breath. But then I feel Matt’s length behind me. His palms lie flat on the counter beside mine, his arms bracketing my body. I can feel him from the top of my head to the heels of my feet, he’s that close. “You in love with me yet?” he whispers quietly. A grin steals across my face, and I’m so glad he can’t see it. “Nope,” I say past the lump in my throat. He brushes the hair from the back of my neck and presses his lips there. I’m suddenly glad he’s behind me, because my knees might just give out. His lips are soft and warm, but insistent. He kisses the side of my neck, and I tilt my head because it feels so damn good. “Someday, you’re going to want to marry me,” he murmurs. “You’re awfully sure of yourself.” My voice quavers only a little. I’m quite proud of that. “Mmm hmm,” he murmurs, and his lips gently slide up the side of my neck.

#1. No Escape and feature keys Today’s Apple Event confirmed many of the rumors surrounding the lengthy-awaited refresh of the Macbook Pro line. The Escape and Function keys at the laptops had been deserted in choose of a hint bar that changed relying at the software that is getting used. The last the Macbook Pro got a chief update was a shocking 4 years in the past and many guides are celebrating the brand new design. However, the lack of bodily Escape and Function keys is a disaster for one major set of Apple’s customers — Developers. Let’s test numbers: There are ~ 19 million developers inside the global. And Apple has managed to promote ~19 million Macs over the past four quarters. What a twist of fate! Yes, builders are drawn toward Apple products mainly for software program reasons: the Unix-like running gadget and the proprietary development atmosphere. But builders want to have a useful keyboard to make use of that software and now they don’t. Why Tim Cook, why? This isn’t to say that the contact bar is an inherently awful concept. You should locate it on pinnacle of the Esc and feature keys as opposed to doing away with them completely! Something like this: #2 Power. Almost no improvement for RAM and a processor The 2016 MacBook Pro ships with RAM and processor specifications that are nearly equal to the 2010 model. Deja vu? RAM: At least it appears like that, because the MacBook Pro has had alternatives of as much as 16 GB of RAM in view that 2010. The best difference now's that you pay for the update. Processors: The MacBook Pro had options with 2.4 gigahertz twin-middle processors again in 2010. Anything new in 2016? Not absolutely, well… nope.

In 1 Samuel 17, we see how comfort stymied the nation of Israel and David’s three older brothers up at their army camp. They repeated their battle cry every day. They got suited up and went and stood on the front lines. They had God on their side and believed he was the one true God. But for forty days they were held back by comfort. They were prevented from moving forward by the lure of ease. The giant was calling the shots. He was dictating their lives. Goliath would come out every morning and evening and shake, rattle, and roar, and the Israelites would all say, “Nope, not today. Too dangerous. Too uncomfortable. Let’s go have lunch. Let’s stay in the tents where it’s safe. If we run out of supplies someone will arrive with more. Maybe we’ll do battle tomorrow.” We

No problem, dear,” Phil said with a smile. It was a nice smile. A few years ago, it might have been returned, but nope, not today. Phil kept his eyes on her for maybe a second too long, though Wendy didn’t think the girl noticed. Once the waitress was out of sight, Phil lifted his bottle toward Wendy. She picked up hers and clinked bottles and decided to stop this dance. “Phil,

What can I get for you, Princess?” a low, deep voice rumbled. Maddie’s head shot up and a man blinked into focus. Her mouth dropped open. In front of her stood the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen. Was she hallucinating? Was he a mirage? She blinked again. Nope. Still there. Unusual amber eyes, glimmering with amusement, stared at her from among strong, chiseled features. She swallowed. Teeth snapping together, she tried to speak. She managed a little squeak before words failed her. A hot flush spread over her chest. Men like this should be illegal. Unable to resist the temptation pulling her gaze lower, she let it fall. Just when she’d thought nothing could rival that face. Shoulders, a mile wide, stretched the gray T-shirt clinging to his broad chest. The muscles in his arms flexed as he rested his hands on the counter. A tribal tattoo in black ink rippled across his left bicep. Oh, she liked those. Her fingers twitched with the urge to trace the intricate scroll as moisture slid over her tongue. For the love of God, she was salivating. Stop staring. She shouldn’t be thinking about this. Not now. Not after today. It was so, so wrong. But she couldn’t look away. Stop. She tried again, but it was impossible. He was a work of art. “You okay there?” The smile curving his full mouth was pure sin. That low, rumbling voice snapped her out of her stupor, and she squared her shoulders. “Yes, thank you.” His gaze did some roaming of its own and stopped at her dress. One golden brow rose. Before he could ask any questions, she said, “I’ll have three shots of whiskey and a glass of water.” His lips quirked. “Three?” “Yes, please.” With a sharp nod, she ran a finger along the dull, black surface of the bar. “You can line them up right here.” When he continued to stare at her as if she might be an escaped mental patient, she reached into her small bag and pulled out her only cash. She waved the fifty in front of his face. “I assume this will cover it.” “If I give you the shots, are you going to get sick all over that pretty dress?” He leaned over the counter, and his scent wafted in her direction. She sucked in a breath. He smelled good, like spice, soap, and danger. She shook her head. What was wrong with her? She was so going to hell. She pushed the money toward him. “I’ll be fine. I’m Irish. We can handle our liquor.” “All right, then.” The bartender chuckled, and Maddie’s stomach did a strange little dip. He

Do you want to know how your chemistry partner is holding up?” I shake my head. “Nope. Don’t care.” The words almost get stuck in my throat. She sighs in frustration, then walks over to the window ledge and picks up the chemistry book. “Should I take this back with me, or leave it here?” I don’t answer. She puts the book back on the ledge and heads for the door. “I wish I’d chosen biology instead of chemistry,” I say as she opens the door to leave. She winks at me knowingly. “No, you don’t. And just so you know, Dr. Aguirre will be coming to visit later today. I’d advise against throwing things at him as he walks through the door.

When she flipped open the box lid, she sat and stared at it for a panic-stricken moment. “Is today your birthday?” “Nope. Mine’s in September.” Phew. Wait. “It’s not your birthday. But you bought birthday cake.” “The cake won’t know.

You could have stayed with my mom today,” I said as Daniel navigated the potholes and ruts. “You’ve got to be hurting.” “Nope. Don’t feel a thing.” “Tough guy,” I said. “No, well-medicated guy.

You could have stayed with my mom today,” I said as Daniel navigated the potholes and ruts. “You’ve got to be hurting.” “Nope. Don’t feel a thing.” “Tough guy,” I said. “No, well-medicated guy. You really think I’d let you go to school without me? I’d show up tomorrow and hear that I got pinned running from a cougar, only to be saved by you rushing in and staring him down.” “Um, yeah, that’s pretty much how I remember it.” “Exactly why I’m going. To get my version out first.” I laughed. “Not a chance. But I will include the part about you throwing me to safety. The girls will love that.

Nope! Not today, satan. Not today.

Monday is supposed to be a fun day. Supposed to be. But not this Monday. No way. Uh-uh. Nope. There is nothing fun about this Monday. Nothing at all. Today, we are in the gym playing dodge ball. I’m not very good at dodge ball because: a) I’m not very good at dodging balls, b) I’m not very good at throwing balls and; c) I’m not very good at any sports. Oh man…

Great, but maybe you should mind your own damn business,” I snap. He’s standing there in his normal, causal stance with his hands in his pockets, his stupid sexy glasses hanging off his stupid sexy nose. “Wow, someone’s uptight this morning. Monday blues? You know, I know of something that can ease that tension.” God the nerve. How does he get away with it? I take a few menacing steps towards him, but he never drops that smile. “You know. You may have everyone fooled here. But not me. Ohhhh no! I see right through you. The ‘I’m just this nice innocent science teacher, who compliments old ladies’ cardigans and plays with baking soda and test tubes’. But nope. I know the real you. The condescending type. Thinks all highly of himself. With his big bad muscles and fake—” Peter grabs for me, pulling me into his classroom. The door shuts behind him and my back is thrown against the wall and his mouth is on mine. I spend a half-second thinking of fighting him off before I fight him in a different way, kissing him just as aggressively. God this is so hot. What is wrong with me!? His movement is quick and brutal. He doesn’t bother asking, but takes, as he spreads my legs with his knees, his hands hiking up my skirt. His mouth breaks from mine, his breath caressing my earlobe as he speaks. “We have exactly three minutes before that bell rings. Now you can waste it, or you can enjoy what I’m most definitely going to.” I don’t say a word, because his hand on my thigh is burning a hole through my skin. My silence is his green light, and he raises his hand, pushing my panties aside. The smirk on his face has a lot to do with the realization that I’m already soaking wet. He uses my juices to spread me open then pushing a thick finger inside. His mouth back on mine abusing my lips with his touch while his finger fucks me, in and out, the pleasure, heavenly. “Two minutes,” he says between nips and licks, his finger pulling out and two entering me. God, this is messed up, but so hot. I’m so turned on; my hands are pulling at his hair. “One minute,” he moans into my mouth and I find myself riding his hand thrust for thrust. It’s like I can hear the seconds ticking by, knowing that if I don’t come before that minute ends I will die. “Thirty seconds,” he murmurs across my lips and his pressure increases, his pumps wild, my back riding up and down the wall. He starts counting down from ten, the numbers getting louder and louder in my brain as he slams a third finger inside me and hooks, putting pressure on just the right spot. I explode. I squeeze his fingers so tight and come all over his hand, just as he grunts out the number one. We both hear the bell sound and he pulls out, adjusting my skirt. Taking his fingers into his mouth, he sucks off my juices, never taking his eyes off me. Before I can say anything, the doorknob begins to jiggle. Light appears from the outside and the door opens as a sea of children scatter in. “Thank you Ms. Gretchen, I will most definitely try out three finger servings of baking soda in today’s explosion experiment.” Smiling heftily at me, “But, you should really be getting to class now. The precious youth is waiting for you.” With that he holds his door open, and in a daze, I walk past him. What the fuck…