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“What you have with Sadie is nothing like what I have with Sadie, so it doesn't even matter. You can fuck anyone," he says. "You can't make games with anyone, though."
"I make games with both of you," you point out. "I named Ichigo, for God's sake. I have been with both of you every step of the way. You can't say I haven't been here."
"You've been here, sure. But you're fundamentally unimportant. If you weren't here, it would be someone else. You're a tamer of horses. You're an NPC, Marx."
An NPC is a character that is not playable by a gamer. It is an AI extra that gives a programmed world verisimilitude. The NPC can be a best friend, a talking computer, a child, a parent, a lover, a robot, a gruff platoon leader, or the villain. Sam, however, means this as an insult---in addition to calling you unimportant, he's saying you're boring and predictable. But the fact is, there is no game without the NPCs.
"There's no game without the NPCs," you tell him. "There's just some bullshit hero, wandering around with no one to talk to and nothing to do.”
― Gabrielle Zevin, Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow

“Friends do not cast shade in order to shine. Remember that. I used to put up with my closest friends throwing shade all the time, because, I WANTED THEM TO SHINE. But then I learned that when you give other people the space to shine at your own expense, you're slowly committing suicide. True friends mutually desire the other to shine without the need to cast shade or throw the other under a bus.”
― C. JoyBell C.

“What does it mean to "cast shade" on your friend? It's when you try to spot their weaknesses, shortcomings or insecurities in any given situation in order to act in the more favourable or popular way, so that you can shine in the eyes of others. Example: Your friend is under sudden, aggressive criticism; instead of helping her out of it, you throw her under the bus by siding with her critics. Another example: your friend has social anxiety; you spot this as an opportunity to be "the fun one" and deliberately, maliciously try to be outgoing and joyful even when you're not genuinely feeling that way. Outshining someone by virtue of deliberate comparison to their vulnerable spots: that is casting shade.”
― C. JoyBell C.

“My staged food pictures put Martha Stewart to shame."
"Yeah? Well, people are too busy actually eating our food to 'gram it, so.”
― Emma Lord, Tweet Cute

“I've never felt anything like it. I usually have trouble..."
"Coming?"
"Well, yes, I mean, it's fine by myself. But hard. At other times. With people. But this time it wasn't... difficult."
"Well, great. He's had a lot of practice."
"Don't be mean."
"I'm not, but you want me to act like great sex is the end of the world."
It is the end of the world, I thought. "No. But it feels big. I can't explain it, I feel, womanly or something."
"You think it's womanly to get fucked?" She had her clawed tones out and I retreated.
"I don't want to argue about gender theory. I just feel like something real happened. And I wanted someone to talk to about it. Like a friend."
"Let me guess," she said, tapping the spoon against the tablecloth. "He beat you up a little bit, called you a slut, and you thought that was really edgy, another spoiled white girl who wants to get slapped around because she always got everything she wanted."
"Fuck, Ari." I shook my head. "It must be hard. To have already sized up the world, to already have written it off completely. Is it just so fucking boring all the time?"
"Pretty much, Skip."
"I would rather be called a slut by him than deal with the shit I get from the women here." I picked up my bowl. "Also, you're fucking white. By the way. And you don't get a medal for being gay.”
― Stephanie Danler, Sweetbitter

“Listen, Benny. If we're going to work together, there's gonna be no more of this... charm offensive you're apparently trying to wage. It's not going to work. We are coworkers, and that is it. Not allies, friends, or anything else. You'd better get it through that irritatingly symmetrical skull of yours ASAP."
He raises an eyebrow suggestively, his crooked grin kicking up. "Oh? What's the 'anything else' you speak of, Reese's Pieces? I only offered allyship---any other ideas are all yours."
A disbelieving laugh escapes me before I can stop it. "You're gonna run out of Reese's candy varieties very soon, Benzoyl Peroxide.”
― Kaitlyn Hill, Love from Scratch

“Reese's Pieces. Way to undersell your casual drawing habit to me," he says, giving me an assessing once-over. "That's some secret weapon to whip out without warning."
I widen my eyes, feigning innocence, "Oh, was I supposed to give written notice? 'Dear Benny, I'm about to make an effort at my job'?"
Teagan covers a giggle with her hand. "I mean, he's not wrong to be worried. You delivered Margie a whole-ass branding package, while he's been cleaning kitchens and waiting for Aiden to tell him when to start cooking again."
I bite my lip, trying to hide the gratification I get at Benny feeling any of the self-consciousness I'm so accustomed to.”
― Kaitlyn Hill, Love from Scratch

“Wow. Please tell me you haven't come up with a way to blame me for what happened that night."
Heat flushed across her skin. Suddenly her office was too small, and she leaned back in her chair, which only brought into focus the fact that he was leaning into her. "Sorry, I forgot. Nothing is ever your fault."
The smile in his eyes singed away, he straightened up again. "You're serious? You're suggesting that it is somehow my fault that you rage-fucked me? Actually, rage-fucked my thigh."
The temperature in the room shot up so fast, Naina thought she was experiencing her first hot flash. Did those happen at thirty-eight? She groaned, because that thought made her feel ancient as she stared into his stupid dewy young face. She was sure her own face had gone some mortified shade. The only good news was that for once Vansh's color rose too, just as fast and fierce.
Wait, had he just accused her of rage-fucking his thigh?
"You are the world's most infuriating person, you know that?" For a moment Naina thought she might choke on her own incredulousness and the fact that he was not lying. "What kind of person brings that sort of thing up when someone's life's work is at stake?"
"I was not the one who brought it up." He mirrored her finger-spinning action and made a circle around her face. "And don't make that face. You didn't say the words but you were thinking them. Never mind. I am actually not here to discuss our night together."
"There was no night together." She pressed her hands into her face and tried to breathe into an imaginary bag. If she didn't calm down she was not going to be able to get this conversation back on track, to say nothing of the fact that she was going to pass out from the heat in here. "You were gone before the morning and I am very grateful that you brought me home and helped me when I----"
"Got horny."
"Threw up."
They spoke simultaneously. Because the universe had decided to test how much humiliation it could stuff into one situation.
Great, now he was smiling again, and she wanted to shake him even more.
"Come on, Naina. Loosen up. It really wasn't that big of a deal."
Relief flooded through her. Thank God. Yes, it was not. She was so glad he thought so. "You're right, people drink too much and throw up all the time.”
― Sonali Dev, The Emma Project

“I merely assisted Hari while he was inebriated." He threw Naina another ruthless smolder. "That's something I'm good at."
"Did he also cause you to get drunk in the first place?" Naina asked sweetly.
"No!" Hari looked horrified. "I just didn't know that the orange juice wasn't only orange juice. Why would Vansh do such a thing?"
"Yes, Naina, why would I do such a thing? It's not like I can predict how people will act when they're drunk." He was all innocence, and it scrambled every bit of her own good sense.”
― Sonali Dev, The Emma Project

“You know you can't do this without me," Jiggy said on the phone, after.
"We'll figure it out. We rich kids do take our need to run around and save the world seriously.”
― Sonali Dev, The Emma Project

“I don't get it. Why won't the twins accept me? Now that I think about it, they are a big reason why I feel like an outsider. An imposter here. "Don't you ever get tired? Of being so mean? First, you call me a gaijin." A fresh wave of humiliation hits me, remembering how they'd spat the word at me at the prime minister's wedding reception. "Then you tried to trick me with that dress."
Noriko squints at me. "What dress?"
"For the sultan of Malaysia's welcome banquet," I hiss, staring at them. "You know what? Never mind. I forgive you. You can't help being so awful when that's what you've been raised with. You're products of your environment." It's a bad idea to rattle the wasp nest, but I don't care.
Noriko shakes her head. "That dress----"
Akiko puts a hand on her sister's arm, stopping her.
I sit back in the chair and cross my arms, wrinkling the kimono even more. "You two are so much like the tabloids that bully your mother, and you don't even know it."
There is a gasp. I can't tell from which one, Akiko or Noriko. But I can tell you how many effs I give right now. Zero.”
― Emiko Jean, Tokyo Dreaming

“Are you gluten-free?â€�
“N´Ç.â€�
“Great. That means our entire menu is open to you.�
“Can’t wait.�
He chose to ignore the sarcasm. “You look like a vanilla person.�
Okay, maybe he hadn’t ignored it.
Her lifted eyebrow said she’d caught the shot. “Is that the best this shop can offer?”
― Jamie Wesley, Fake It Till You Bake It

“To her untrained eye, the cupcakes looked perfect. They smelled delicious. He handed her one, and she took a big bite. The perfect combination of milk chocolate, graham crackers, and fluffy, sweet marshmallows burst onto her tongue. She couldn’t stop a moan from slipping past her lips. She was officially in love.
“Better than decent, I take it?� Donovan drawled in her ear. Jada froze as a treacherous yet delicious shiver raced down her spine, then turned to face him. He’d come around the counter and was standing right next to her, the heat from his body seeping into hers.
She lifted her head to meet his challenging gaze. She took another delightful bite and swallowed. “Yep. They’re terrific. You didn’t make them, did you?”
― Jamie Wesley, Fake It Till You Bake It

“She looked at Murphy, whose crazy brown hair leapt out of her cheap wool hat like snakes in a trick can of nuts. Then she winked at Judge Abbott as if they were in on some private joke. “Murphy, you should come in for a cut before your interviews start.â€�
Murphy squinted at Lucretia with exaggerated concern. “Do they do waxing? It looks like your mustache is growing back.”
― Jodi Lynn Anderson, The Secrets of Peaches

“Nautical blue? Nah.â€� Her best friend, Chantal, used her fingertip to reveal the next set of colors. “Back in Chicago, with Lake Michigan nearby, maybe. But out here?â€� Her tone indicated just what she thought of the rural Illinois town. She tapped another hue on the swatch. “What you want here is cornflower blue.â€�
Grinning, Simone shook her head. She’d missed joking around with Chantal. And nothing could dim her pride in the town’s agriculture. Their corn fed the nation. Lake Michigan was picturesque but cold and forbidding half the time.”
― Chandra Blumberg, Stirring Up Love

“You’re relieved of duty, bachelorette. Go take thy lack of crafting skills elsewhere. You’re a disgrace to bakers everywhere.â€�
“Excuse me, Chantal, but have you seen my bonbons?�
Chantal laughed. “Can’t say I’ve had the pleasure.�
“What my sister means to say is her sugar work is top notch.â€� Simone eyed the bow critically. Probably because she was the only sober one. “Unfortunately, looks like that skill doesn’t transfer to non edible items.”
― Chandra Blumberg, Stirring Up Love

“Aunt Glory mentioned that you weren't able to see Emme's true colors, so you don't know what she's like deep down."
I recalled the look in Emme's eyes last night while we stood in the garage. "I know enough to know she's not going to steal my silver."
Mama's voice rose. "You're being narrow-minded."
"Me?" I snapped, suddenly hurting all over. "I think that phrase better suits you right now.”
― Heather Webber, In the Middle of Hickory Lane

“Well. Look who it is."
I grimace at the irritation in her tone.
"Hey, Whitney. I'm sorry to bother you. I know I'm the last person in the world you want to hear from---"
"Nah, that would actually be my cheating ex-boyfriend," she says. "But yeah, after him, you're next.”
― Sarah Echavarre Smith, The Boy With the Bookstore

“Please, I could take you in a race in a heartbeat."
She laughs out loud. "Wanna bet?"
"Sure. Let's go."
She follows my eyeline to the edge of the pool like she might actually race me, but then I reach forward and tug her cap off her head in one swift motion, her blonde hair spilling into the pool in wet tangles around her face and shoulders.
"Foul!" Pepper crows, yanking it back from me.
"You know, for someone named Pepper, you're pretty salty about losing."
She groans at my pun as she shoves her hair back into the cap, but then counters, "For someone named Jack, you're pretty bad at knowing when to hit the road."
"Wow, Burger Princess, sick burn."
And damn if she hasn't gone and done it again--- distracted me right at a peak moment for me to most fully make an ass of myself. The soccer ball is sailing over our heads, and Pepper's already plowing through the water with the focus of a shark, halfway to where it's about to smack into no man's land.
Not on my watch.
I reach out and grab her ankle and yank her back the way she's done to me too many times to count, but unlike me, she seems to be expecting it--- expecting it so readily, she snaps her body through the water like a rubber band, using me as an anchor for momentum, and before I know it, she's got a palm squarely on top of my head and is dunking my entire body underwater.”
― Emma Lord, Tweet Cute

“And to really make it fair--- we'll ask them not to say which grilled cheese is which."
"Won't it be obvious when yours looks like flash-frozen garbage someone stuck in the microwave?”
― Emma Lord, Tweet Cute

“It's a good thing they can get your hair big enough to hide the witch hat." Leo absentmindedly rolled up the cuff of his shirt, like he hadn't even noticed she was there.
Nina ignored how seeing a hint of his skin made her mouth twitch, just slightly. Stop drooling.
"Don't you want to use a little powder to take the shine off his cloven hooves?" Nina asked the makeup person, but she couldn't help but notice that Leo's lips twinged at her comment.”
― Erin La Rosa, For Butter or Worse

“Why don't you take your broom and ride off on the local coven meeting?" He ran a hand through his unfairly thick hair.
"Back in five!"
"That would be great for the show's ratings. All alone, you'd rock that demo of viewers who love watching paint dry." Nina smirked, happy to have the last dig before they went on-air.”
― Erin La Rosa, For Butter or Worse

“So I should also pretend you didn't bring up my James Beard Award, like it's something to be ashamed of?" She narrowed her eyes at him. "Sorry you run a conveyor-belt restaurant." Her voice was full of acid, but she blinked, then quickly looked down.
A conveyor-belt restaurant? He deserved her rage, but he'd offered an olive branch and she snapped it in half.
"I know what you think of me, Nina. The only food worth eating costs a month's rent, right? How's that going for you? I heard the LA location is in trouble now, too.”
― Erin La Rosa, For Butter or Worse

“I know you're not familiar with what a real restaurant is like, but the front door isn't usually located in the alley," she snapped.
He clicked his tongue before responding. "See, for a moment I was wondering if I'd made a mistake coming here. But I'd hate to miss this witty repartee."
"It's not repartee if I'm the only one with wit." She straightened, like one of those exotic birds she'd seen in an episode of Planet Earth when they wanted to intimidate predators. "Why do you look like an extra from SVU?"
Leo pulled down the hood and took off his sunglasses. "Did you know there are paparazzi outside your restaurant? I'm surprised they're willing to drive this far east." He shook his head to himself. "Why have a restaurant in Silver Lake? It's like the Brooklyn of LA . Shouldn't you be in West Hollywood, where the real money is?"
"If I'd known there was a portal from hell located so close by I would've reconsidered the location." Less than a minute in Leo's presence, and she'd slipped back into insult mode as easily as popping dark chocolate into her mouth. The taste of knocking him down a peg was as sweet as always.”
― Erin La Rosa, For Butter or Worse

“As for your restaurant, good luck. I have a feeling you'll need it."
"Why?"
"Because you're so...so, what's the word? Basic. Like American bread or that horrible cheese. Bistro Exotique? Is this your idea of a joke?"
Oh. No. He didn't.”
― Samantha Verant, The Spice Master at Bistro Exotique

“It's not my fault the floors are porous. Take it up with management."
He glowers. "Maybe I will. And maybe I'll have you evicted."
"Good luck with that," I say with a smirk. "You know how French laws work."
His threat is empty. When it comes to real estate, the laws in France protect the renters, not the owners. Even if he starts the eviction process, it could still take up to three years to get rid of me.”
― Samantha Verant, The Spice Master at Bistro Exotique

“Hey, Blondie---can't you read a clock? Or are the numbers too complicated for your pretty little head?"
"I'd ask you to teach me, but my guess is you'd be too busy scratching your balls.”
― Dana Bate, A Second Bite at the Apple

“Cut the bullshit. Your little ingénue act---it's pathetic."
Her words sock me like a punch in the gut. As much as I hate lying to her face, as much as I've been dying to tell her the truth, to have it out once and for all in a big, messy fight, I'm not sure I'm ready for this. The steely look in her eyes, the tightness of her jaw---she'll crush me.
"Okay. Fine," I say, the courage building inside me. I can do this. I have to. "Let's cut the bullshit, then." My eyes drift toward her cabinets. "Maybe we should talk over a glass of wine. Unless that would be bad for the baby."
I wait for her to take the bait, but she just stares at me.
"There is a baby, right? You wouldn't make something like that up. Only a crazy person would do that. Only someone who was truly horrible, all the way to her core."
She clenches her jaw. "You have no idea what you're talking about."
"Yes, I do. And you know it."
"Watch yourself."
"Why? So you can steamroll me like you steamroll everyone? You don't even love him."
"You have no idea how I feel. About anything."
"I know your marriage is one of convenience. That you sleep in separate bedrooms. That you're having an affair with a guy named Jacques."
"And I suppose that makes you an expert on my love life."
"No, but it means I know you don't have Hugh's interests at heart."
"What do you know about his interests? You think you can parachute in, five years into our marriage, and decide you understand how or why any of this works? You think a month or two of screwing means you know more about him than I do?"
"I know he doesn't love you. I know he never did."
"Well, la-di-da. Here's a newsflash: It takes more than love to make a relationship work."
"But you can't really make a relationship work without it, can you?"
"You can if you want to."
"Only if both people do. And Hugh doesn't. Not anymore."
"Is that so? Then tell me, why did he just spend more than a week with me, discussing our future?"
"Because you created a phantom pregnancy without consulting him? Because he's trying to do damage control?"
"Ah, I see. Is that what you keep telling yourself?"
My face grows hot. "It kills you that he'd choose me over you."
She throws her head back and cackles. "Is that what you think? That he'd choose you? Christ, you're even more naive than I thought."
"He loves me," I say. "He said so."
"You know what else he loves? His career. And how do you think you fit in with that? Let me answer for you: You don't."
My hands are shaking. "What about you? You're having an affair with some French guy named Jacques. How do you think that will play with Hugh's constituency? Let me answer for you: Not well.”
― Dana Bate, Too Many Cooks

“Chloe talked Clare through the information she needed to hack into the system and guided her screen by screen. Her fingers flew over the keyboard and her laptop screen lit up with lines of white code.
"I'm in," Chloe said after five stressful minutes. "It wasn't that secure at all."
"I'm looking at the screen, but I don't see anything," Clare said over the video chat. "Where are the files?"
"I didn't give you access. I gave me access." Chloe shot me a sly grin. "You and Vito can meet us here and Simi can share what we find."
Clare's lips pressed into a thin line. "I didn't think subterfuge was your style."
"You never made an effort to get to know me," Chloe said. "Never trust a hacker."
"My mom is the bomb." Olivia pumped her fist. "I'm going to be a hacker just like her."
"You can be a white-hat hacker and help people," Chloe replied. "If I ever catch you doing black-hat hacking like this, I'll take your phone away forever.”
― Sara Desai, 'Til Heist Do Us Part

“I have experience now with older women. I took one for the team."
"He slept with Clare," I reminded Simone.
"I said 'older,' not 'ancient.'" Anil sniffed. I took one for the team with Milan, not Clare.”
― Sara Desai, 'Til Heist Do Us Part