“What time are you finished?” “Half ten,” she said quietly. “I’ll walk you home.” “I have the car.” “Fine. I’ll walk over to the pub and drive you home.” “You finish at nine.” “I’ll wait.” “Joe, I need a night to myself, okay,” she said, tone strained. “I’ve, ah, well, I just do, okay?” “Are you mad at me?” I asked, hating the helpless feeling eating me alive. “Did I do something to upset you?” I swallowed down a growl before asking, “Are you pissed that I didn’t do something when Ricey knocked you over in P.E yesterday? Because I wanted to, Molloy. I was fully prepared to kick the shit out of
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