More sex isn’t all I crave from her, though. I also want this. Listening to her hum in the bathroom. Talking to her. Being around her. Soaking up her presence that, no matter what she says, feels like my personal brand of sunshine. I allow myself to consider the possibility that maybe this isn’t a normal thing at all. That this isn’t good chemistry or teenage fantasies or an escape from reality. That maybe it’s a Harper thing. That maybe it won’t wane after I leave. That she’s going to complicate my life in a way I’ve never experienced before, and I don’t even care. That pretending around
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