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WHAT ABOUT ME?

Carlos puts a drink on the bar, and I snatch it before the Suit can.

Victory, I think. And immediately I feel a little stronger, tougher, more formidable. I wonder if this feeling is why men are obsessed with winning.

“Hey,” Nathan says, his voice low and stern enough to give a woman fantasies. Not me though. I am fantasy free.

“That’s mine,” he says.

“No, it’s mine,” I say, taking a swig of coffee. And then I’m coughing and gagging because of how black and bitter it is.

No, it’s mine,” I say, taking a swig of coffee. And then I’m coughing and gagging because of how black and bitter it is.

So much for the victory tasting sweet.

“Never mind,” I croak, as Carlos sets my bagel and coffee on the counter. I pass this coffee to the Suit. “This one’s yours.”

He looks down at the lipstick stain on the coffee lid with distaste. Then his phone buzzes, and he swears.

He takes the coffee from me, and my stomach does a weird buzzy thing when our fingers touch. Probably leftover adrenaline
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