“And now, me and Dr. Pretty Boy are roommates,” I say to wrap up my dreadful story. Layla’s shock is evident on her face. “Jeez, girl. Why didn’t you call me?” A wry laugh escapes me. “When I was crying my way back to Starlight Falls with my tail between my legs? Or when I was getting stuffed by a stranger on a seedy motel bed?” “Okay. Fair enough.” She laughs. Then her expression turns skeptical. “But I don't know about this guy. This whole thing sounds shady.” “I know,” I grumble. “But he looks mostly normal to me.” Mostly normal? Ha! Fine. I lied. ‘Normal’ is a gross mischaracterization.
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