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but she didn’t seem to mind their hips and outer thighs together. “You aren’t an airhead. Who said that to you?” “It doesn’t matter. It’s true.” “It is not true,” he barked. “Oh yes, it is. I have left an endless trail of proof. I’m like a super-hot snail.” She smacked her hands over her eyes. “Did I really say ‘Why the long faces’ at a memorial dinner? Oh my God.”
She stared at the far wall of the apartment—which was actually quite near—and tried to process the last few hours.
