I don’t think I like that boy.” He growled, glaring for effect, just in case I hadn’t figured out his oh-so-subtle interpersonal cues.“He’s a sweet kid,” I insisted, folding the gray blazer over my arm.“He’s a teenage boy,” Cal said, his dark eyes narrowed. “They’re all sexual deviants under the surface. I should know. I was a teenage boy once.”“Thousands of years ago,” I countered.“Times may change, but testosterone does not.
-Molly Harper
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