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A Bandini rep eventually pulls us away from the DJ area after we play our third reggaeton song. Apparently, it’s not well-suited for the elite crowd.
“I came to collect my postrace winnings.” He drags a calloused finger from my lips to my throat. “Uh, I’m pretty sure they already gave you the trophy,” I whisper huskily.
American Devil: Didn’t place on the podium. Maybe I’m the superstitious one.