“About the other night …” he starts. And I scowl. Immediately and entirely without meaning to. He sighs, this time sounding frustrated. “I’ve been informed that I’m an idiot for apologizing.” That makes me blink. “By who?” He waves a hand. “That’s not important. So now I’m apologizing for apologizing. You seem really great, Sarah—” I hold up a hand, stopping him. “Please stop. I really don’t want any more apologies or ‘it’s not you, it’s me,’ speeches. You regret kissing me. You don’t want it to happen again. I get it. Say no more.” His eyes narrow, and his jaw flexes like he’s grinding his
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