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“Yeah. Not sure you’re going to like that part,” I tell him. I’m just being honest. “But I like it.”
“Keep your hands to yourself, asshole,” Jacob growls.
How I’ve almost memorized the way his pure white hair hangs over his right eye, bright green bursting between strands; the arch of his eyebrows and the way his cheekbones rise sharply over a hard-cut jaw; the pale pink of his lips.
If I were to glow with how much I want him right now, I’d be brighter than the sun.

