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After all, his hookups are typically just that—hookup material. 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.
“Siren, wait!” “Shortcake, please!” “Blue!” I don’t even turn or slow my brisk walk as Saylor and I make our way toward the exit, only putting up my finger and flipping them off over my shoulder. “The crazy one is done with you.”

