He would never speak to me with such disrespect unless his heart was involved. He sinks into the chair beside him, drops his head into his hands, and groans. After a moment, I say quietly, “She doesn’t seem like your type.” He exhales. “I’ve never met a woman who could make me blush before.” Jesus Christ. Anger makes my tone harder than it should be. “Do I know everything I need to know about this situation?” He jerks his head up and stares at me beseechingly. “I never laid a finger on her. I swear on my mother’s grave. Nothing happened. She doesn’t even know.” “You’re saying it’s one-sided?”
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