theresa goodwin

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My pulse thuds in my ears. “That’s why you’re crying?” She swipes at her eyes with frustration. “You weren’t supposed to see.” I point at the ground in front of me. “Come here.” Meadow snorts at my order. “No one’s ever cried for me before and I…” I stop to clear my throat, but it won’t stop hurting. “Please, will you come here to me?”
The Mobster's Masseuse
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