Chapter 3

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In the time it takes him to finish his shift and come back to my place, I shower and change out of those damn pajama bottoms. It’s jeans and a polo shirt for me. I smooth down my hair, then tousle a palmful of gel through it, hoping for that carefree, windblown look.

I get crap.

I comb my fingers through it and scrutinize my appearance in my bathroom mirror. I see dirty blond hair so straight, it stands up from my forehead as if shocked. Cut short in the back, almost buzzed, so you can see just how dark my roots are now that winter’s here. I have pale eyes that almost disappear into my face—if it weren’t for the black irises, you wouldn’t even notice them.

Paul did, apparently. Thank God. What the hell did he see in me?

A quickie,my mind whispers, and I watch a grin slide across my face in the mirror. Again, thank God