“Vic, what—” “I’ve been going fucking crazy.” “What?” “Thinking of you. Out with another man. On a date with another man.” “Vic, I—” “I realized we never had any conversation about exclusivity.” That shuts her up. “So right here, right now, I want to make this crystal fucking clear, Gabrielle. You’re mine. That’s it. Mine. You don’t go out with other men; you don’t dress up for other men. You. Are. Mine. Do you hear me?” I expect an argument, because this is Gabi, after all. Instead, I get a challenge. I realize now her breathing is heavy, soft pants hitting my face, those high shoes bringing
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