“Tell me that we’re friends.” “Molloy.” “Say it, Joe.” “Why?” “Because it matters.” “To who?” “To me.” Jesus Christ. Shifting uncomfortably, I let my shoulders sag before mumbling, “We’re friends.” “What was that?” “We’re friends.” She laughed. “I was hoping for something more along the lines of ‘Aoife, you’re my dearest, sexiest, most lovable, bestest friend in the whole wide world’.” “Don’t push your luck.” “But I’m your favorite, right?” With a teasing lilt to her voice, she said, “Your favorite friend?” “Yes, fine! Whatever. Christ,” I grumbled, rolling my eyes. “You’re my favorite friend,
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