Isabel Santellano

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It was that night, with Lo sprawled half-asleep in his bed, that I asked him if he was a virgin. I wanted him to tell me no. To ease my shame. “I’m waiting,” he mumbled sleepily. My eyebrows furrowed. “For marriage?” But he fell asleep before he could answer, but I think I knew it anyway. He was waiting for me.
Ricochet (Addicted, #2)
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