“You move on fast.” Fuck. My eyes rolled involuntarily. I’d never forget the cocky drawl of that man’s voice for as long as I lived. “Is that your type? Skater boy?” I scoffed and took another long gulp, watching the way Frankie’s eyes roamed over my body head to toe as I did. Fine, let him look. It was satisfying to know he might lie awake at night kicking himself over the loss. “He’s a little young, though,” Frankie commented, leaning his hip against the ledge of the bar. “Probably not a lot in his retirement fund.” “And what’s your type, exactly?” I flicked the sign on his chest. “Walks and
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