“Here’s what we’re doing.” He gestured to the backs of my knees and under my arms. It looked like he was calling a play. “I’m going to carry you—” “You’re gonna fucking what?” Fully unbothered by my screeching, he continued, “But there are some narrow turns. I need you to keep your head here”—he patted his chest—“and your legs tucked in tight.” “And what about the part where this is the fifth floor and I am not a small woman?” “If I wasn’t worried about nailing your head on the banister or messing up your hair, I’d throw you over my shoulder and run.” He slipped an arm around my waist and the
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