“I’m sorry,” I burst out. “But I know what you’re going to say, and I just didn’t want to hear it.” He huffed an impatient breath. “You have no idea what I’m going to say until I say it.” I threw up my hands. “Fine. Go ahead, Blue. Fucking say it.” When I looked at his face, I realized he was partially wrong—I may not have always known what he was going to say, but I knew what he wanted to do. From the look on his face, he was torn between strangling me and laughing. I quickly sent up a silent prayer that the laughter won out. When he finally spoke, his voice was calm. Clearly he had shelved
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