Shea appeared at my Jeep, parked in the driveway, as I was hauling everything out of the back. “Want help?” It was the tail end of summer, and all that honey-hued sunlight caught on his hair and his eyes and just stayed, like he’d been painted with gold. He was wearing short shorts that clung to his thick thighs and an Outlaws T-shirt that clung to his pecs. His biceps bulged beneath his sleeves, and his Adam’s apple jutted out from the tanned hollow of his throat. Those long legs went on forever, cut and carved with muscles and curves that would make you dizzy if you traced them too fast with
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