“Okay,” I huff out. “Why?” “Because I don’t do this.” I’m breathing like I just ran a hundred-meter dash. “Do what?” “Physical contact. Relationships. Any of it.” My eyebrows knit together. “Like . . . at all? Ever?” “Not for . . . a long time. Years.” He trails off as he stands, and the enormity of his confession hits me like a wrecking ball. Years? “Not since . . .” He doesn’t need to finish that sentence. I already know he means since Hilary. My throat burns with jealousy. Sad, pathetic jealousy. Such a wasteful and pointless emotion. “I’m sorry,” he adds as he turns to walk away stiffly
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