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32- Hannah

Why, oh why did the normally awkward and frustrated with general conversation Lincoln have to look so dang good dressed up? He looked like some sort of GQ cover model who’d come to sweep me off my feet with his perfectly tousled hair, square jaw, and smoking finger. Okay, the finger was my fault. Or technically Aunt Betty’s for never fixing the doorbell, but Lincoln’s overall presentation was smoking hot, which meant I was officially screwed for tonight. How could I be expected to remember he was only my fake boyfriend when he told me I was beautiful right before nearly slamming the door in my face yet again?

“Hannah?”

Lincoln’s voice jolted me from my thoughts. I was trying to remember some jokes from when I used to babysit in high school for extra cash, but so far all I had was “knock-knock.” I couldn’t remember the rest, which was truly sad since there were like a million knock-knock jokes to choose from.

“Sorry, what?”

He twisted the side of his lips up, probably amused that it wa
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