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the opening strains of Dean’s selection blare out of the speakers. It’s Cheap Trick’s “I Want You to Want Me.”
He looks at the bathtub, where I’m lounging like Cleo-fucking-patra.
“What’s wrong?” I can’t decipher his expression. “Can I see you tonight?” His voice is husky, and there’s an inexplicable chord of…something…in it.
