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CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

I'm dancing and laughing with Sammy, and I'm slightly tipsy. The type of tipsy where you would make bad decisions like Phoebe would say.

The latter is working the room as if she's already an employee at The Phoenix, being her charming self.

Maybe Sammy and I should have done this a long time ago. The mix of alcohol, music, and bodies gyrating to the beat is oddly stress-relieving.

Those nights we were so holed up in our tiny apartment should have been spent club-hopping and dancing our worries away.

Or it's just a great remedy for running away.

I feel him before I see him, that electrifying shiver that runs up my spine when he looks at me is present. I don't bother looking where he is because I know he will find me. He finds me even if I don't want to be found.

I'm pissed off at him, too. Not even a fucking text message to make sure I'm okay. After he just spoke some bullshit about us getting married. I know nothing about relationships, but I know that is not how you would treat
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