Davan Rose

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She never returned them, just like she never returned my black hoodie. I bought a new pair of each because there was no way I would ask for either of them back. I like the look of her in my clothes too much. “Nice sunglasses,” I say as she walks closer. “Thanks. They belonged to this famous driver once. I think they’ll give me his skills if I wear them long enough,” she smiles.
Lights Out (The Grid, #1)
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