Elle

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An unwelcome image pops into my head of a guy leaning on the bar, talking to her. Smiling at her. His gaze dropping to her mouth, her tits. Maybe he reaches out and tucks her hair behind her ear, says something teasing. My nostrils flare. I hate that idea. I hate it so fucking much. My knee bounces as I stare at nothing.
Behind the Net (Vancouver Storm, #1)
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