“Don’t be mean,” I whisper. “None of this is his fault.” “Whoever makes you cry, directly or indirectly, is at fault.” He kisses away my tears, fixing his blazer over my shoulders. “I really wish I was one of the men in your books.” My chin quivers. “You’d kill for me?” “Well, killing is a stretch. Maybe a fistfight? A little stabbing to non-vital organs?” I shove his shoulder. Despite lacking a funny bone, he sure knows how to tickle mine. “You don’t have to wish for that, Azeer. You’re the only knight in shining armour in my book.” “As long as you’re the dragon,” he says. I kiss his cheek,
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