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“I don’t want to steal his underwear,” I said scathingly. “I want to steal his dignity.”
I am wrongly blamed for my biting sense of humor.
Rationality isn’t my strongest suit, but I have a fine eye for vengeance.
“You sold your soul for Julian Murdock?” Pippa screeched, in a very impressive decibel. I winced.
“Erm. Right.” I swallowed as a clattering of approaching footsteps met my ears. “And if I do vomit?”
Well, brain, you hid that revelation rather well.
Sod it all, what had Scorpius said earlier this afternoon about flirting?
“Let’s reel him in, ladies,” I said, standing up from my seat and brushing the crumbs off my skirt. “You’ll want a good seat today, I reckon.”
I imagine Roman society wore similar expressions of amusement to attend gladiator fights.
He could either accept graciously and we could return to our tentatively amicable relationship of earlier. Or he could hex my nose and make it fall off.
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