“Here, try this on.” Groaning, I reluctantly shrug into a fluorescent orange tank top that is about as far from my idea of fashionable as it is possible to be. “Happy?” I say, trying not to think about my farmer’s tan. “It’s ravishing,” she says, flashing me her trademark winning smile, making my heart flutter involuntarily. It was Christy’s idea to go shopping. We’re not even dating. Normally, such a request would be grounds for a “What are we doing here?” type conversation, but that’s just not Christy’s style. When she decides to do something, she does it. That, and she’s...
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