“Dude? Really?” Aidan was a true product of southern California. He called me dude, he called his jacket dude, he called Rick dude — though only when Rick wasn’t in earshot. One time he’d called me ‘Dude, baby’ when he was drunk. Like, really? I was his boyfriend. I should be exempt. “Don’t you love me anymore?” “Cheap shot, dude-baby,” he said with a grin. God, he was so gorgeous when he smiled like that. It was so unfair. “I love you more than anything.” And that was unfair too, because every trace of humor was gone when he said it, and what was I supposed to snark back to that? Checkmate.
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