“Blair’s birthday,” he says. “We always do something low-key. Erin cooks, Lily makes cards with dinosaurs and glitter. You’re coming.” “Does… he want me there?” Hayes doesn’t look up from hunting down the chicken at the bottom of his Alfredo bowl. He snorts. “Jesus, Kicks. If I waited for that guy to want things out loud, I’d be dead several times over.” “But it’s his birthday.” “Exactly.” Hayes leans back and stretches out his long legs like he’s got the world sorted out. “Blair doesn’t throw flowers; he writes you into his battle plan. You’re on his line, right? From him, that’s saying a
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