I had to keep my hands clenched at my sides to avoid wiping my sweaty palms on the skirts of my gown as I reached the dining room and immediately contemplated bolting upstairs and changing into a tunic and pants. But I knew they’d already heard me, or smelled me, or used whatever heightened senses they had to detect my presence and since fleeing would only make it worse, I found it in myself to push open the double doors.Whatever discussion Tamlin and Lucien had been having stopped and I tried not to look at their wide eyes as I strode to my usual place at the end of the table.Well, I’m late for something incredibly important, Lucien said and before I could call him on his outright lie or beg him to stay, the fox-masked faerie vanished.I could feel the full weight of Tamlin’s undivided attention on me—on every breath and movement I took. I studied the candelabras atop the mantel beside the table. I had nothing to say that didn’t sound absurd—yet for some reason, my mouth decided to start moving.You’re so far away. I gestured to the expanse of table between us. It’s like you’re in another room.The quarters of the table vanished, leaving Tamlin not two feet away, sitting at an infinitely more intimate table. I yelped and almost tipped over in my chair. He laughed as I gaped at the small table that now stood between us. Better? he asked.I ignored the metallic tang of magic as I said, How … how did you do that? Where did it go?He cocked his head. Between. Think of it as … a broom closet tucked between pockets of the world. He flexed his hands and rolled his neck, as if shaking off some pain.Does it tax you? Sweat seemed to gleam on the strong column of his neck.He stopped flexing his hands and set them flat on the table. Once, it was as easy as breathing. But now … it requires concentration.Because of the blight on Prythian and the toll it had taken on him. You could have just taken a closer seat, I said.Tamlin gave me a lazy grin. And miss a chance to show off to a beautiful woman? Never.
Sarah J. Maas
I know for a fact that I would be awful if I was built like Serena Williams or Jennifer Lopez... If I had a body remotely close to what they have, I would be a terror. My ass would cause me to do really inappropriate and rude things. I'd be so ridiculous that people would be able to pick my labia out of a lineup. I'd wear zero clothes any- and everywhere, every day. I'd show up at church rocking a denim thong and a cropped T-shirt and have the nerve to sit right next to the head usher and dare her to say anything to me. And if anyone did say something to me, I'd tell them, Jesus blessed me in many ways and I am just showing off His works. HALLELUJAH. People would be disgusted and appalled by me and I wouldn't care. All insults would bounce off my ample backside. To whom much is given, much is required and I'd require that my much would be given nary an inch of fabric. I'd hire a band whose sole job would be to follow me around and play theme music for my yansh, based on the mood I was in... I might opt to walk backwards into any room I entered, because why not?... I might also declare my booty its own limited liability corporation, assigning myself as CEO and chairman of the Donk. My jeans would be tax-deductible business expenses and I would add my ass to my LinkedIn profile's Skills section. Everyone would throw hate ration in my dancery and I wouldn't even see it, protected as I would be by the throne I sat atop.'m Judging You: The Do-Better Manual
Luvvie Ajayi