“I think you’re lying to me,” she says. Then, quick as lightning, she snakes one hand under my shirt. My hands fly to my midsection, trapping and holding the bag in place, but I end up trapping Evie too, flattening her palm against my stomach. I relax my grip, expecting her to tug her hand away, but instead she does the opposite. She slides her hand upward, grazing it over my skin until her fingers brush the bottom of my right pectoral muscle. I flex, my breath catching in my throat, and Evie grins, her expression sly as she drops her hand and yanks the bag free. “That was way too easy,” she
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