She lingers and eyes the tattooed, shirtless, and lean but muscular ballet dancer next to me. He rests against the bathroom door. “I’m Beckett.” He nods in greeting. “I’d shake your hand, but…” He hoists his cuffed wrist and tries not to jerk mine. Jo’s brows rise. “Kinky.” He speaks calmly. “If it were kinky, I’d be enjoying it more.” She snorts and readjusts her backpack strap. “How many times have you used that line?” “It’s not a line.” He studies her in a quick sweep. “Believe me, you’d know if I was using a line on you.” Intrigue sparks her brown eyes. “Why is that?” “Because you’d
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