“So you’ll be keeping the aluminium hat on through the whole meeting, will you?” Orion muttered, and I cursed, snatching the thing off my head but feeling an oily residue left in my hair. “Do I smell like vegetable oil?” I sighed. Darcy glanced up at a line of oil which was leaking down my temple. “Nope,” she said brightly in a way that told me I absolutely did. “Liar,” I accused. “You just smell…well-seasoned,” she taunted, and Tory snorted. “Twenty minutes in the oven and you’ll be golden brown,” Tory said. “Dibs on his ears,” Orion said. “I’ll whip us up some guacamole and double dip those
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