“You ain’t been hooking up lately.” I shrug. “Not in the mood.” “You not being in the mood is like meeting a chef who hates cooking. Not so sure such a thing exists.” The elevator doors open and we step off on the ninth floor, cutting a left toward our block of rooms. “So, what’s really going on?” he asks. “I want her.” “Who, my volleyball captain?” I scoff a laugh. “Nah, man.” With a sigh, I swing my eyes to his. “My fucking tutor.” His brows jump, amusement quickly following. “Well, there it the fuck it is, son. I called that shit when she stunned your ass by walking away from you without
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