“If you say so,” Adrian shrugs and then calls out to the worker. “We’ll need one large popcorn too.” My forehead crinkles. “What are you –” “You’re a terrible liar, you know,” he cuts me off. “When you want something, it’s written all over your face.” “It is not,” I argue and then frown. “Is it?” The kid hands over the popcorn and tickets and mutters, “Enjoy your date.” I can’t help the flush that branches up my neck as we walk away. Do people really think we’re on a date? I mean, I guess that would be the logical assumption to make about two teenagers slinking into the movies in the
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