The Sewist's Bookshelf

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“You’re going to walk inside with me,” I whispered. “No, I’m not.” “Then I’ll carry you inside over my shoulder. Your choice.” I was testing her and she knew it. I wanted her to acknowledge that she felt something between us. We had been playing for fun, but I wanted to play for money. We were in a game of chicken, but she wasn’t flinching.
Dust Storm (The Griffith Brothers, #1)
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