He chuckles, not unkindly. “These are good. Just looks like the flash caught you off guard in that first one,” he says, giving me a wink that makes me think he knows I was flustered. We take another round of friendly, smiling photos. Then Remi reaches over and gently slips my glasses off, folding and setting them on the little ledge in front of us. “You don’t like them?” I ask self-consciously. I can’t do contacts. The thought of touching my eyeball twice a day, every day, makes me shutter. “They’re awesome, Linc. Just wanted to try some pics without them, too. So I can decide which look is
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