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But she wasn’t. I only saw her for two seconds, and I could already tell. She’s cute and quick-witted, with a conscience, unlike the babbling dumbbells Nash normally brings home. She’s my type of girl, not his.
“Can I keep you?” I ask, my soft voice cracking with emotion as my eyes well up too. “As long as I can keep you.”
“When I think about you, I touch myself.” She lets out a short breath in reply, but I can see the side of her mouth turn up slightly before she counters, “Yeah, me too. I rub my temples because you give me a damn headache.”