“Do you think we’re cursed?” I ask, and he stills the rag, mulling over my question before running it down the center of my back. “I think we’re our own worst enemies at times, and we’ve allowed too many outside forces to rip us apart. Me especially.” “Star-crossed,” I whisper. “I don’t disagree.” “What about the other outside forces? Where the hell were our fairy godmothers when we needed them?” He grunts in agreement. “They did a terrible job.” “Cupid?” I ask. “He shot one too many arrows into you.”
