“We haven’t formally met,” I say, holding out my hand. “I’m Connor Cobalt. The guy whose girlfriend you want to fuck. And just so you understand, the odds don’t look good for you.” He shakes my hand, and I grip him so tight that he struggles to hide a wince. “You’re threatened by me,” he states, not breaking eye contact. “I’m twenty-eight, and you’re—” I hate ages. “Twenty-four years smarter than you.” I tilt my head. “And in ten years I’ll be thirty-four years smarter than you. See how this works?” Rose steps between us, hands outstretched like she’s protecting us from each other. But I just
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