“So, Jolie and I are kind of together.” I prop my shoulder against my own locker, looking down at him. God bless my late father. He gave me the height to tower over most motherfuckers who aren’t signed with NBA teams. Mark’s eyes widen in disbelief before he schools his features and clears his throat like the good, rich boy that he is. “Oh, yeah?” “Yep.” I pop the P out with a grin. “Let me get this straight. You slept with her this weekend, after I asked you for the one-hundredth time to sniff around for me?” “Look,” I say cuttingly, evading the question, “I’ve known this girl since we were
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