Probably Ruby Quotes

When you hate someone you used to love, and you think he's done something awful - he probably has.

If you don't want to be in an argument with someone, it is probably best to try to solve the problem, rather than lying around hoping the other person will do it for you.

You'd think that would have been forgotten long ago. But no, no sooner has a little grass grown over it than some clumsy camel comes along and rakes it all up again." Caroline giggled. She was probably imagining Aunt Glenda as a camel. "This is not a TV series, Maddy," said Lady Arista sharply. "Thank goodness, no, it isn't," said Great-aunt Maddy. "If it were, I'd have lost track of the plot ages ago.

No doubt some people, probably guys, will be thrown off balance by your forthrightness. Who cares. Eat their leftovers. If they carry on judging you, eat them, too.

Ireland is probably named the “Emerald Isle” because there are lots of precious stones found there, such as sapphires and rubies.

You probably don’t want to change the meaning of true halfway through your program (except perhaps if you’re a politician).

By now, you know everything about Jackson Clarke, probably way more than anyone on earth wants to hear. This is all I have to add: I still think about him every day. When I see him, my heart jumps up in my chest. I long for him to talk to me, and whenever he even says hello, I feel a thousand times worse than I did before. I wish he was dead. I wish he still liked me.

But the minute Ruby said what she said, the minute I heard the word lesbian, my blood started beating so fast that my pulse was all I could hear. I was not paying attention to what was flying out of Ruby’s mouth. I could only catch certain words, like girl and dyke and twisted. The skin on my chest felt hot. My ears burned. I did my best to calm myself. And when I did, when I focused on Ruby’s words, I finally heard the other piece of what she was trying to tell me. “You should probably get a better handle on your husband, by the way. He’s in Ari’s bedroom getting a blow job from some harpy from MGM.” When she said it, I did not think, Oh, my God. My husband is cheating on me. I thought, I have to find Celia.

She said you had to know that which could save you, for it could probably also kill you.

I’ve learnt that if you let out your anger on someone, it comes back to you like acid reflux and you’ve poisoned yourself and feel toxic and nauseated while the taxi driver probably just goes back to his home and wife and has a lovely life. I

I really like you, Evelyn.” I looked at her sideways. She laughed at me. “I know that’s probably not something most actresses mean in this town, but I don’t want to be like most actresses. I really like you. I like watching you on-screen. I like how the moment you show up in a scene, I can’t look at anything else. I like the way your skin is too dark for your blond hair, the way the two shouldn’t go together and yet seem so natural on you. And to be honest, I like how calculating and awful you kind of are.” “I am not awful!” Celia laughed. “Oh, you definitely are. Getting me fired because you think I’ll show you up? Awful. That’s just awful, Evelyn. And walking around bragging about how you use people? Just terrible. But I really like it when you talk about it. I like how honest you are, how unashamed. So many women around here are full of crap with everything they say and do. I like that you’re full of crap only when it gets you something.” “This laundry list of compliments seems to have a lot of insults in it,” I said. Celia nodded, hearing me. “You know what you want, and you go after it. I don’t think there is anyone in this town doubting that Evelyn Hugo is going to be the biggest star in Hollywood one of these days. And that’s not just because you’re something to look at. It’s because you decided you wanted to be huge, and now you’re going to be. I want to be friends with a woman like that. That’s what I’m saying. Real friends. None of this Ruby Reilly, backstabbing, talking-about-each-other-behind-our-backs crap. Friendship. Where each of us gets better, lives better, because we know the other.” I

Before settling in to work, we noticed a large travel case on the mantelpiece. I unsnapped the latches and lifted the top. On one side there was a large desert scene on a marble base featuring miniature gold figurines, as well as a glass clock powered by changes in temperature. On the other side, set in a velvet case, was a necklace half the length of a bicycle chain, encrusted with what appeared to be hundreds of thousands of dollars’ worth of rubies and diamonds—along with a matching ring and earrings. I looked up at Ben and Denis. “A little something for the missus,” Denis said. He explained that others in the delegation had found cases with expensive watches waiting for them in their rooms. “Apparently, nobody told the Saudis about our prohibition on gifts.” Lifting the heavy jewels, I wondered how many times gifts like this had been discreetly left for other leaders during official visits to the kingdom—leaders whose countries didn’t have rules against taking gifts, or at least not ones that were enforced. I thought again about the Somali pirates I had ordered killed, Muslims all, and the many young men like them across the nearby borders of Yemen and Iraq, and in Egypt, Jordan, Afghanistan, and Pakistan, whose earnings in a lifetime would probably never touch the cost of that necklace in my hands. Radicalize just 1 percent of those young men and you had yourself an army of half a million, ready to die for eternal glory—or maybe just a taste of something better. I set the necklace down and closed the case. “All right,” I said. “Let’s work.

Why aren’t you scared of me?” she asked. “I am,” he said. “I just … you’re not the only dragon I know with dangerous powers.” “Really?” she said. What did that mean? Who was he talking about? But before he could answer, a roar billowed down through the corridors, like a rolling smoke cloud. Turtle flared his wings, his green eyes wide. “What was that?” “Probably Queen Ruby,” Peril said. Was Ruby yelling at Clay? Was Clay all right? Did he need her to come protect him? She glanced back at the row of fire globes leading uphill to the school. “Maybe they just told her that I’m here.” “Want to go find out?” Turtle asked. Peril frowned at him. “So I can get roared at face-to-face? That does sound more fun.” “I don’t mean go say hi,” Turtle protested. “I mean, I’m going to eavesdrop to see what’s happening, so do you want to come?

She’s a lesbian, Evelyn.” Until that point, the sounds of the party going on around us had been muted but still distinct. But the minute Ruby said what she said, the minute I heard the word lesbian, my blood started beating so fast that my pulse was all I could hear. I was not paying attention to what was flying out of Ruby’s mouth. I could only catch certain words, like girl and dyke and twisted. The skin on my chest felt hot. My ears burned. I did my best to calm myself. And when I did, when I focused on Ruby’s words, I finally heard the other piece of what she was trying to tell me. “You should probably get a better handle on your husband, by the way. He’s in Ari’s bedroom getting a blow job from some harpy from MGM.” When she said it, I did not think, Oh, my God. My husband is cheating on me. I thought, I have to find Celia.

She went over to where the kitchen phone sat, picked up the receiver and dialled a number she had dialled approximately several thousand times. 'Hey bozo, meet me, usual place, just as soon as.' She replaced the receiver. 'And they say the art of conversation is dead,' commented Hitch, shaking out the newspaper. Mrs Digby looked at Ruby and shook her head. It's a crying shame,' she said. 'All life's good manners and fine etiquette gone to the pot. I tried to raise this child a nice child, but I probably got to accept failure here.

I still have no choice but to bring out Minerva instead.” “But Minerva doesn’t care about men,” young Charlotte said helpfully. “She prefers dirt and rocks.” “It’s called geology,” Minerva said. “It’s a science.” “It’s certain spinsterhood, is what it is! Unnatural girl. Do sit straight in your chair, at least.” Mrs. Highwood sighed and fanned harder. To Susanna, she said, “I despair of her, truly. This is why Diana must get well, you see. Can you imagine Minerva in Society?” Susanna bit back a smile, all too easily imagining the scene. It would probably resemble her own debut. Like Minerva, she had been absorbed in unladylike pursuits, and the object of her female relations’ oft-voiced despair. At balls, she’d been that freckled Amazon in the corner, who would have been all too happy to blend into the wallpaper, if only her hair color would have allowed it. As for the gentlemen she’d met…not a one of them had managed to sweep her off her feet. To be fair, none of them had tried very hard. She shrugged off the awkward memories. That time was behind her now. Mrs. Highwood’s gaze fell on a book at the corner of the table. “I am gratified to see you keep Mrs. Worthington close at hand.” “Oh yes,” Susanna replied, reaching for the blue, leatherbound tome. “You’ll find copies of Mrs. Worthington’s Wisdom scattered everywhere throughout the village. We find it a very useful book.” “Hear that, Minerva? You would do well to learn it by heart.” When Minerva rolled her eyes, Mrs. Highwood said, “Charlotte, open it now. Read aloud the beginning of Chapter Twelve.” Charlotte reached for the book and opened it, then cleared her throat and read aloud in a dramatic voice. “’Chapter Twelve. The perils of excessive education. A young lady’s intellect should be in all ways like her undergarments. Present, pristine, and imperceptible to the casual observer.’” Mrs. Highwood harrumphed. “Yes. Just so. Hear and believe it, Minerva. Hear and believe every word. As Miss Finch says, you will find that book very useful.” Susanna took a leisurely sip of tea, swallowing with it a bitter lump of indignation. She wasn’t an angry or resentful person, as a matter of course. But once provoked, her passions required formidable effort to conceal. That book provoked her, no end. Mrs. Worthington’s Wisdom for Young Ladies was the bane of sensible girls the world over, crammed with insipid, damaging advice on every page. Susanna could have gleefully crushed its pages to powder with a mortar and pestle, labeled the vial with a skull and crossbones, and placed it on the highest shelf in her stillroom, right beside the dried foxglove leaves and deadly nightshade berries. Instead, she’d made it her mission to remove as many copies as possible from circulation. A sort of quarantine. Former residents of the Queen’s Ruby sent the books from all corners of England. One couldn’t enter a room in Spindle Cove without finding a copy or three of Mrs. Worthington’s Wisdom. And just as Susanna had told Mrs. Highwood, they found the book very useful indeed. It was the perfect size for propping a window open. It also made an excellent doorstop or paperweight. Susanna used her personal copies for pressing herbs. Or occasionally, for target practice. She motioned to Charlotte. “May I?” Taking the volume from the girl’s grip, she raised the book high. Then, with a brisk thwack, she used it to crush a bothersome gnat. With a calm smile, she placed the book on a side table. “Very useful indeed.

And, so, what was it that elevated Rubi from dictator's son-in-law to movie star's husband to the sort of man who might capture the hand of the world's wealthiest heiress? Well, there was his native charm. People who knew him, even if only casually, even if they were predisposed to be suspicious or resentful of him, came away liking him. He picked up checks; he had courtly manners; he kept the party gay and lively; he was attentive to women but made men feel at ease; he was smoothly quick to rise from his chair when introduced, to open doors, to light a lady's cigarette ("I have the fastest cigarette lighter in the house," he once boasted): the quintessential chivalrous gent of manners. The encomia, if bland, were universal. "He's a very nice guy," swore gossip columnist Earl Wilson, who stayed with Rubi in Paris. ""I'm fond of him," said John Perona, owner of New York's El Morocco. "Rubi's got a nice personality and is completely masculine," attested a New York clubgoer. "He has a lot of men friends, which, I suppose, is unusual. Aly Khan, for instance, has few male friends. But everyone I know thinks Rubi is a good guy." "He is one of the nicest guys I know," declared that famed chum of famed playboys Peter Lawford. "A really charming man- witty, fun to be with, and a he-man." There were a few tricks to his trade. A society photographer judged him with a professional eye thus: "He can meet you for a minute and a month later remember you very well." An author who played polo with him put it this way: "He had a trick that never failed. When he spoke with someone, whether man or woman, it seemed as if the rest of the world had lost all interest for him. He could hang on the words of a woman or man who spoke only banalities as if the very future of the world- and his future, especially- depended on those words." But there was something deeper to his charm, something irresistible in particular when he turned it on women. It didn't reveal itself in photos, and not every woman was susceptible to it, but it was palpable and, when it worked, unforgettable. Hollywood dirt doyenne Hedda Hoppe declared, "A friend says he has the most perfect manners she has ever encountered. He wraps his charm around your shoulders like a Russian sable coat." Gossip columnist Shelia Graham was chary when invited to bring her eleven-year-old daughter to a lunch with Rubi in London, and her wariness was transmitted to the girl, who wiped her hand off on her dress after Rubi kissed it in a formal greeting; by the end of lunch, he had won the child over with his enthusiastic, spontaneous manner, full of compliments but never cloying. "All done effortlessly," Graham marveled. "He was probably a charming baby, I am sure that women rushed to coo over him in the cradle." Elsa Maxwell, yet another gossip, but also a society gadabout and hostess who claimed a key role in at least one of Rubi's famous liaisons, put it thus: "You expect Rubi to be a very dangerous young man who personifies the wolf. Instead, you meet someone who is so unbelievably charming and thoughtful that you are put off-guard before you know it." But charm would only take a man so far. Rubi was becoming and international legend not because he could fascinate a young girl but because he could intoxicate sophisticated women. p124

Hello, Cass.” The words fell stiltedly from Luca’s lips. Cass had never heard him call her by her nickname before. He stopped several feet from her, probably waiting to see if she would bolt out of the garden and into the graveyard rather than be close to him. Cass smiled in response. She gathered her skirts and sat on one of two stone benches near the garden’s center. Luca approached her. He walked stiffly, as if he were still getting accustomed to his long arms and legs. “Sometimes I think we use more water in a day for our gardens than peasant families use for a month’s worth of cooking and washing.” Cass looked up at him. “Is there a water shortage I don’t know about?” She hoped he couldn’t tell she’d been crying. “No.” Just the faintest French accent colored the single word. Luca reached out to examine the beginning bud of a ruby-colored rose. The bloom snapped off in his hand. He twisted it around in his fingers. “I remember when you were a child. You used to have a nickname for all the flowers. You called the marigolds ‘fireflies,’ I recall, and lilies were ‘ladies’ purses.’” “I can’t believe you remember that,” Cass said.

I never get it when I see people waving their national flag, getting all weepy, singing some dirge about their homeland. Everyone sobbing for the old country (which is just a wet piece of peat moss) going on and on about how many generations back their people lived on this potato farm (said with an Irish accent) and how they loved it even though they’ve probably emigrated to another country. To me it’s dirt, to them it’s land: same thing. My people this, my people that. I have no real people except when I was in the mental institution and then it was full of them. They were my people, because they did not answer with ‘fine’ when you asked how they were. We didn’t need a flag.

The brain detects negative information faster than it does positive. We are drawn to bad news. When something is flagged as a negative experience, the hippocampus (responsible for consolidating memory) makes sure it’s stored in an easy–to-reach place for future reference. If you whistled a happy tune and just thought lovely thoughts you’d probably be hit by a truck pretty quickly, and find yourself as road kill. This negative bias primes you for avoidance and fear but when you direct it at yourself, it can bring you to your knees with depression.

It…hurt me to suspect him, but that wasn’t the worst of it. The worst was his drinking. He started drinking after dinner—on the nights he came home. You girls probably didn’t even notice. A few beers, a scotch and soda here and there. By ten o’clock he was wobbly, and by eleven he was stumbling drunk. And he got…mean. All his insecurities—you remember how hard Grandpa was on him—and his disappointments came tumbling out, and everything was my fault. Every time he yelled at me, I heard my dad’s voice, and though Rand never hit me, I started expecting it, flinching away from him, and that only made him madder. How could I think he’d hit me, he’d scream, stomping out of the house.” She looked up at Ruby. “So, you see, I was at least half of the problem. I couldn’t separate my past from my present, and the harder I tried, the more the two braided together. I was terrified I’d become like my mother—a woman who never spoke more than two words at a time and died too young.

I didn't want to go but I pulled my T-shirt over my head anyway and I watched Ruby put hers on too. There was something more intimate about seeing her putting her clothes on than taking them off. For a second, I saw us in our imaginary flat in our imaginary future again. Waking up beside her and getting dressed before going downstairs. It was the kind of moment you only shared with one person and most people probably didn't think about it much at all.

I'm learning all kinds of things out here on Nude Sushi Beach. I'm learning that these people are buck naked all the damn time, probably because of the heat and humidity.

I was not sure if it would be better than your mouth." I chuckle. "And is it?" "I have decided that I like both. One is fresh, bloody meat straight from the kill. The other is a warm soup by the fire. Both are good." He slides his cock out of my body and then collapses onto the furs next to me. "Very, very good." Most girls would probably hate for their vagina to be compared to soup, but I know Juth, and I know it's a compliment.

I'm alone with Ruthie, but she doesn't seem to want to look in my direction. If anything, she seems to be looking everywhere but at me. Is she upset over last night? Hating that we slept together? Because I keffing loved it. Every last moment of it. I got to sleep with my female. I got to count her pretty piercings and stare at her while she slept. I got to breathe in her scent and feel her skin pressed up against mine. I got to share a blanket with her. It was the best keffing night of my entire life, followed closely by the first night I laid eyes upon her...and then probably followed by the moment I realized my cock worked again, after years of suppressants. Those two moments have been the best, but last night topped them all.

She’d woken up with a receipt for condoms. That much she knew. But had she used them? Even if she had, a little voice in the back of her head yelled, “Glow-in-the-dark condoms from the Dollar Store, probably expired!

I think you might be cracking my ribs,” Lucetta mumbled into his chest, her words having him release his death grip on her before he took a step—but only a step—away from her. “You have no idea how happy I am to see you” was all he could think to say. Lucetta smiled. “You have no idea how happy I am to see you as well, and”—she nodded to Stanley, Ernie, and Mr. Skukman, who were currently sitting on top of Silas Ruff, while Tilda stood guard at the door they’d blown open, looking rather menacing as she kept a pistol at the ready—“I’m delighted to see you brought some assistance as well.” She nodded toward the blown-apart door. “Assistance proficient in the use of dynamite, if I’m not mistaken.” “That was me,” Ernie said, sending Lucetta a grin. “Not that I use dynamite all that often anymore,” he hurried to assure her. “But my expertise with the substance does come in remarkably handy at the oddest of times.” “Should I ask why Ernie’s an expert with dynamite?” Lucetta asked, turning back to Bram. “I would suggest not,” Bram said. Wrinkling her nose, Lucetta nodded. “You’re probably right, but tell me, how did you find me?” “Using a wide variety of interesting contacts spread throughout the city.” Bram blew out a breath. “Everyone’s been so worried about you.” “I’ve been fine,” Lucetta began, nodding when he quirked a brow her way. “Honestly, I have been. I mean, yes, the men Silas hired to abduct me scared me half to death—especially the man I heard was some sort of tracker—but as soon as they delivered me here, they left and I never saw them again. Truth be told, until today, it’s just been me along with a pack of intimidating women Silas hired to make certain I didn’t escape from this cozy little nest he’s been holding me in.” “Silas left you alone until today?” “Curious as that may seem, yes. He only showed up about an hour ago.” She smiled. “I do believe he had a most romantic dinner planned for the two of us, but matters got off to a rough start when he demanded I play him a piece by Bach, and discovered I . . . Well, let’s just say that, if you’d compared my playing with Ruby’s, your sister would sound downright competent at the keys.” Brushing

May I assume the two of you have come to some type of an understanding?” “I think it’s safe to assume Lucetta and I aren’t going to wed.” Ruby reached out and patted his arm. “I wouldn’t give up all hope just yet, Bram. I, probably more than anyone—since I’ve attended so many of her performances with you—know how long you’ve held Lucetta in high esteem. Quite frankly, now that I’ve met the real Lucetta, I do believe she’s entirely more fascinating than everyone, myself included, assumed her to be.” Frowning, Bram tilted his head. “Why do you say that?” “Because I think she’s far more accomplished then she lets on, seems to be incredibly intelligent, and . . . I didn’t get the impression that she’s overly concerned with her appearance, which, coming from a lady as beautiful as Lucetta, is well and truly telling.” She smiled. “And, she’s definitely not fragile, nor does she seem to be the weepy type. I always expected her to be weepy for one reason or another.” Bram nodded. “I thought she would be weepy as well, but that certainly doesn’t seem to be the case. Truth be told, now that I consider the matter, she seems very similar to you, except for the whole shrew business. I don’t get the impression Lucetta is much of a shrew.” “You

My office is right here." He inclined his head to the false front building. "It was once Miss Ruby's boardinghouse." "Boardinghouse or bordello?" she asked. "Probably one and the same." He grinned. "Half the reason I signed the lease was that I liked the irony of practicing law in a former bawdy house.

Although there’s growing support for Ruby in IDEs, you’ll probably still end up spending some time at your system’s command prompt, also known as a shell prompt or just plain prompt.

Pokemon to choose? According to some reviews, Mudkip is suggested to be the best. When evolved to Swampert, it will have abilities of Surf, Strength and Waterfall while Blaziken and Sceptile will only have Cut and Strength. By level 52, Swampert will be able to learn Earthquake which is a pretty strong move for battles. Speed up battles and texts Since Pokemon Omega Ruby and Alpha Sapphire is a big game as you could probably see and there will be a lot of battles and talks. If you will spend most of your time watching the battles and reading the texts, this will take your forever to accomplish things in the game.

Yes, you can kiss me. But let’s make them small kisses so you don’t struggle breathing.” Her fingers dance along my ear, then move up to my broken horns, two ugly stumps capped off with metal. “You can strip me naked. You can lick me all over. Think of me as a blank canvas and you’re the artist.” That’s far more poetic than how I feel. “More like I’m just the lucky bit of scrap that you’ve decided to craft into something new.” She grabs me by the ears, her expression fierce as she forces me to look her in the eye. “You’re not scrap. You’re just as worthwhile as anyone I’ve ever met. Better, even. You saw me hurting and did something about it instead of walking away like so many others. That shows your true character. I probably cost all of your credits, was a bother and an annoyance because I remember crying like a madwoman, and then you even found me a new place to live where I’d be safe. You didn’t just sell me to another person and hope for the best. You made sure that I was taken care of, even if it was a problem. You’re amazing. Your heart is amazing. I don’t care that you don’t have a good family name or that your father’s father was a splice. I don’t care that you have a criminal record. All the things that you think make you unworthy don’t bother me, because I know how you really are when the chips are down.” “What are chips⁠—” “Hush,” Melody says, exasperated. “I’m trying to build you up here.

We are what we imagine. Our very existence consists in our imagination of ourselves. Our best destiny is to imagine, at least, completely, who and what, and that we are. The greatest tragedy that can befall us is to go unimagined. —N. Scott Momaday

Good thing I’m only worth my vagina to him,” I say blandly. Joke’s on him, my girl parts have a permanent no-vacancy sign on them, alas. “What is va-shy-nuh?” Farli asks. “I do not know this word.” “Never mind.” I probably shouldn’t be teaching Farli dirty human words.

I think about those mouthwatering handfuls from yesterday, though, and know this is deceptive…and oddly enough, I like it. It's like a secret only for me. Then again, I'd probably like it if she wore something with her tits spilling free to her navel, too. I'm a simple sort.

She’s probably going to be the most perfect pregnant person ever.

When I sat on display without a moment's privacy or peace to myself, and that even though people were around me, I was still alone in the universe. I was probably difficult to talk to back then, too. I distinctly remember a period in which I didn't get up from bed, didn't wash, didn't eat—until the aliens prodded me with shock-sticks to get me to do something, anything. And while Zhur could definitely benefit from the receiving end of a shock-stick, something tells me that he's getting a wake-up call right now. Even so, I won't be used. I might be nice, but I'm not an idiot. I'm not going to be taken advantage of again. If he apologizes, I'll talk to him and we can come to an agreement. If he doesn't have money, he can work around the farm to pay for room and board. The idea soothes some of my distress, and when I peek out on the porch later, I see the bowl is discarded, the clothing gone.

Arti looked concerned, even though she’d probably expected it. “We’ll find it,” she said, hands on her hips as she looked at the pieces of the ruby reflecting the light even better now. “We’ll find a stone strong enough. We just have to keep trying.

Look, I feel like shit and am probably a few steps behind Tiffany on the death ladder, but am I squealing and moaning? No, no I am not. I am sucking it the fuck up.

He wears leather, eats raw meat, and hunts with slings and bone knives. Big guy’s probably never heard of a space heater, much less a spaceship.

I shall never lose my knowledge to anyone, probably, he or she shall gain my wisdom

I spun around at the door. “Yes?” “Word of advice,” he said. “Gem had nothing to do with this. Not to mention, Alastair contributes generously to the police department every year.” “What’s that supposed to mean?” Wes cracked his knuckles, then winced and shook out his hand. “Alastair Gem is not a man you want to offend.” Chapter 9 “Iexpect you’ll fill me in,” Jimmy said as I climbed back into the car. “Dare I suggest it be over a bucket of chicken?” I swerved into the left lane and put on my blinker for The Chicken Hut, a fried food joint near the station. We crawled through the drive thru line and put in our orders. A king-sized pail for Jimmy, a queen for me. A few minutes later, the tantalizing smell of fried chicken was working its way into the car’s upholstery. Jimmy had shiny fingers by the time we returned to the station parking lot. He mopped his chin with a napkin. “I’m ready to hear the details whenever you’re done with that wing.” I sighed, tossing the wing back into the bucket. I wasn’t all that hungry. It was hard to care much about food when a case consumed me. “My sister brought Wes home last night,” I said. “Like, on a date. Wes Remington—the manager of Rubies—was at my house. Rubies is Alastair Gem’s latest venture.” “No kidding? That’s neat.” “What’s neat?” “Gem is like the Tony Stark of the Twin Cities. His latest restaurant has the best food I’ve ever tasted—it set me back a year into retirement to eat there, though. Now I hear he’s got an Emerald hotel coming soon that’s gonna cost two grand a pop for a night. That man is rich, powerful, and handsome. The rest of us don’t stand a chance.” “I beg to differ,” I said. “Anyone who is that rich, handsome, and powerful has secrets to hide.” Jimmy shrugged. “Probably. Still doesn’t mean I wouldn’t date him, and I’m a happily married straight man.” “As it turns out, Wes doesn’t have an alibi for the night of the murder. He says he was upstairs working, but we don’t have anyone who can confirm it.” “Do you like him for Jane Doe’s murder?” I licked my fingers. “It’s too early to tell. My head says yes. He’s new to town and had easy access to the victim. But I don’t have any clue as to a motive. Why would he grab her specifically?” “We’re looking for a serial killer. Is there any saying why they do what they do?” “Maybe not,” I agreed. “But my gut’s telling me Wes isn’t our guy. He seemed...

When we got there, he had champagne and rose petals and candles all over. Everywhere.” The levity returned to his eyes. “Ouch.” “Yup. I got outta there. It really freaked me out. Because you know why?” “Why?” he asked. “He should know. He should know I wouldn’t like that, right? That means something, doesn’t it?” His expression grew a little serious. “Yeah, it does.” “Am I a bitch? I am, huh? That was really sweet, and I should have appreciated that. I am a bitch. I knew it.” He chuckled. “No. You’re honest.” He shook his head and talked into his beer. “And he did it all wrong.” I smirked. “Oh yeah?” “Yeah.” He put his glass down. “Let me guess—the ring was huge. Big rock?” “Oh my God, Josh, you don’t even know. It was enormous. He designed it and had it made. It had this red rope of rubies around the band and…” I took a deep breath remembering it. He’d spent a fortune on it and I’d hated it. It was so gaudy. “Why? What kind of ring should he have gotten me?” “None. You’d want to pick your own ring. You’d probably say something like, ‘I’m the one who has to look at it for the next fifty years.’ I would have taken you to buy it instead of just springing it on you.” “How do you know I wouldn’t like a ring sprung on me?” I said, narrowing my eyes. He scoffed. “The only thing you like sprung on you are snacks. You have an opinion about everything. You’re also really practical. You’d probably pick something reasonable. No diamonds. I’m thinking an etched band. Nothing that would need to be repaired or cleaned or that you’d have to take off to do the dishes.” He regarded me for a moment. “Something personal engraved inside. Something only the two of you would get.” He knows me. He knows me almost better than I know myself.

I can never lose my knowledge to you, probably you can gain my knowledge

If you do come face to face with one of our ocean friends,' continued the dive instructor, 'then just stay where you are, don't back away. If it comes toward you, then swim toward it. He'll probably get the message.' 'Oh yeah,' said Ruby. 'And what message is that?' 'That you aren't lunch - lunch usually swims in the other direction,' said the dive instructor with a wink. 'And what if this shark ain't so smart?' asked Ruby. 'What then?' 'Then,' said the dive master, 'it will probably try to explore you with its teeth - that's how they check things out, only you don't really want them to do so as it could mean waving bye-bye to an arm or a leg.' 'Well, I kinda need my arms for waving - my legs sorta tend to come in handy too,' said Ruby.

They could play catch with a tennis ball on the porch, she thought. There wasn’t much that was breakable. And Ruby would probably

You should have stayed with your sister.” “Why? She doesn’t need me.” I tilt my head, studying him. “You don’t need me, either, not really. I’m not going to lie—I’m probably going to be shitty company on this trip. I’m going to be slow as molasses, and I’m not very strong. But you do need a friend…and I can be that for you.” He covers the hands I have on his cheeks with his own, and then lifts my hands to kiss each palm. “Are we just friends, Mah-dee? You know you have my heart.

Your Behavioral Responses to Anxiety The ways in which people react to social situations are often a result of physical and mental responses. Feeling anxious is a clue from your body that you are in danger and need to take action. However, because the danger is exaggerated, your actions often do not fit the situation and do not help you. Two typical behaviors are freezing and avoidance. When people freeze in a situation, they cannot react. Movement, speech, and memory are all affected. You may have experienced freezing when a teacher called on you in class. When attention like that was placed upon you, you probably felt the physical responses of blushing, shortness of breath, and rapid heart rate, among others. You probably had negative thoughts running through your head, such as “I’m such an idiot. I look stupid.” As a result of the strong physical and mental reactions, you froze and were unable to remember the answer; perhaps you could not speak at all. Because feelings of anxiety are unpleasant, some people try to avoid stressful situations altogether. If you are nervous around crowds of people, you may avoid going to parties or dances. If you are afraid of speaking in public, you probably avoid classes or situations in which you would be asked to speak or make a presentation. There are also other, subtler forms of avoidance. If you are nervous in crowds, you may not avoid parties entirely, but you might leave early or latch onto one person the entire time. Or, you may distract yourself by daydreaming or flipping through CDs instead of talking with people. Because of her social anxiety, Ruby hadn’t participated in any extracurricular activities during high school. At the beginning of her senior year, her guidance counselor told her she would have a better chance of getting into her top-choice college if she would join activities, so she joined the Spanish club. The group was led by the Spanish teacher and met once a week before school. When Ruby joined, they were beginning to plan the annual fiesta, and there were many decisions to make. At first, the other students tried to include her and would ask her opinion about decorations or games, but Ruby was so anxious that she couldn’t respond. Soon, they stopped asking and left her alone. Ruby thought she was being a part of the group simply by showing up, but she never volunteered for any of the planning committees and never offered suggestions. When it was time to fill out college applications, Ruby asked the Spanish teacher to write her a recommendation. The teacher said she couldn’t because she didn’t know Ruby well enough. Patterns of avoidance may be so deeply ingrained in your lifestyle that you are not even aware that you are exhibiting them. Think carefully about your reactions to various situations. When you receive an invitation, do you instantly think of reasons why you can’t accept? When you are with a group of people, do you use escape mechanisms, such as reading a magazine, hiding in the restroom, or daydreaming? Avoidance may help lessen your anxiety in the moment, but in the long run, it usually makes things worse. Life is very unsatisfying when you avoid so many situations, and such behavior hurts self-esteem and self-confidence.

All we can really do is to take the revolution a meal at a time. Be the first woman in the office to take a biscuit from the communal tin; be the person brave enough to take the last one, too. In the company of people you feel comfortable with and safe around, eat your heart out. Practise ordering greedily on dates. Be the only person at the table to get a dessert. When it arrives, don't share it. Try out speaking your mind when you're alone -- talk to yourself in the mirror, saying things like 'I would like you to go down on me, and I want the last slice of the strudel.' No doubt some people, probably guys, will be thrown off balance by your forthrightness. Who cares. Eat their leftovers. If they carry on judging you, eat them, too.

The websites I delved into painted a challenging picture of recovery. Breaking free from the chains of scrupulosity, they warned, was no easy feat. Unlearning patterns of hypervigilance and self-criticism, etched deep into your neural pathways over years, is a painstaking process. It’s like trying to rewire your own brain’s circuitry, one fragile connection at a time. I would need to become a vigilant guardian of my own mind. Learn to catch toxic thoughts before they took root and spread like invasive weeds. Kevin and my bishop were right. I couldn’t do this alone. I had to get therapy, and a lot of it, probably. I just hoped that Ruby would agree.