“God, you’re insufferable.” “Why?” “Because you literally talk in single syllables. We’re on a date, right?” I ask, raising my eyebrow. He turns to me and glares. “I’m just saying, you said you wanted to hit him”—I lower my voice despite not seeing a single paparazzi or journalist nearby—“right between the eyes. Looking like I’m a puppy following you around and you giving one-word answers doesn’t exactly scream happy couple, you know?” His steps slow and I catch up to him, finally able to walk alongside him toward the line. I must have hit some kind of mark because his hand reaches out and
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