So when he presses me even closer, dips his chin to the top of my head, and curls his arms around me in more of an embrace than a dance, I let him, with zero hesitation, as I relax into the warm, solid comfort of his hold. “One more?” he asks, his voice broken. I nod against him. One more song fades and blurs into five, or maybe even more. I’ve lost track. Eventually, when the turntable clicks, signaling the need to flip the record over, neither of us moves. If anything, Bo holds me tighter against him. “You okay?” I whisper into his chest after a few moments of silence. “I’m just trying to
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