“Knock, knock.” Lia had a habit of saying the words in lieu of actually knocking. She also didn’t bother to wait for a response before sauntering into the room I shared with Sloane. “A little birdie told me there was a seventy-two-point-three percent chance you needed a hug,” Lia said. She raked her gaze over my face. “I don’t do hugs.” “I’m fine,” I said. “Lie,” Lia replied immediately. “Care to try again?” It was on the tip of my tongue to say that, after the debacle at Michael’s house, she probably wasn’t fine, either, but I had the good sense to know that pointing that out would not end
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