“Stop.” I laugh and sit up. I bring my legs to my chest and rest my chin on my knees. “You’re fucking with me. There’s no way you read my romance novels.” “Why? Because I’m an illiterate football player?” “Because they’re love stories with all these grand gestures and sweeping declarations. There isn’t any blood or guts or anything you would find interesting.” “Blood and guts are overrated,” he says. “Why didn’t you tell me? I have a whole bookshelf you can look at if you want.” “Sneaking them from you is way more fun.” “This makes so much more sense. My bookmark was in the wrong spot the
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