“You look so Southern right now, Ryne. I can’t even stand it.” I shut my locker door carefully and then slowly make a half-circle around him, checking out each angle. Ryne’s glare, which would make most people at least take a step back if not wither away, tracks me over his shoulder. “Jeans and boots. Plaid shirt with a white tee underneath, tight but not too tight. And a hat.” He’d slipped a hat on just now. “Check, check, check, check.” Ryne slams his locker closed and turns to face me with his arms crossed over his chest. It makes his biceps look massive, like he could bench-press five of
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