Bailey Kuskoski

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When she gets close, I see the tears in her eyes. She sets a large, rolled-up piece of paper on the end of the bed and comes to my side. Her gaze roams over my bum knee and then snaps back up to me. “Hey.” The single word scrapes my throat. I turn my hand, palm up, on the bed, and she laces her fingers through mine.
Hating the Player (Campus Wallflowers #2)
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