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“I’m not gay,” Atticus managed, sounding unsure even to himself. The stranger grinned, and Atticus’s stomach did somersaults. “Yeah, but you’re not straight either, are you?” “I’m a psychopath,” Atticus blurted. The stranger leaned forward, his whisper conspiratorial. “I’m a Scorpio. I still like banging dudes.”
He’d been in a dating slump since his brothers had decided to start mating for life like psychotic penguins.
“I watched you cut a guy’s fingers off during a racist game of Jeopardy. I guess I thought there was a cone of silence thing happening here.
“Stop, you’re turning me on,” Avi snarked. “I work in fashion, I know my way around feisty twinks.”

