“What’s up?” Mark lifts his head, a towel wrapped around his waist. He slams his blue locker shut and uses a second towel to rub his black hair dry. Even though he’s on my team, he’s been riding the bench for the last year-and-a-half. I can’t help but internally curse him. Who the hell does he think he is, checking out my JoJo? Whoa. My JoJo? She’s not mine. Only that’s not entirely true. She feels a lot like something no one else can ever have, so who the hell says she’s not mine? And if she isn’t, I’m going to make her mine. Because I’m done fucking around after what happened last month.
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