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50

Carys

HE WASN’T ALONE

I couldn’t believe I was thinking this, but I wished Deacon had never gone down on me. I wished I had never heard him groaning against me. I wished he’d never given me the most amazing orgasm of my life. I wished I could erase that night altogether, because nothing had been the same since.

I wasn’t stupid. I knew he’d been keeping his distance since my birthday. It had been a week now, and it was clearer by the day that we’d ruined a perfectly good friendship. What bothered me the most was the sense of false hope I’d had after that night—that somehow Deacon would decide he wanted to be more than friends. Instead, I hadn’t seen or heard from him in days. Normally he would’ve stopped by with another coffee by now, but he had chosen to distance himself. Not sure I could blame him. The last time he was here, things were awkward. And I hated that. Things had never been that way before—sexually tense, maybe, but never awkward.
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