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Chapter Seventy Three

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The next night . . .

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Bunny, as it turned out, could talk for at least an hour without stopping. She was the verbal equivalent of the world's longest run-on sentence, but Shamira did not seem to mind anymore. The girl was just too damn happy to stay annoyed with. And she was certainly easy on the eyes, sitting in the passenger side of the van in tight-white denim shorts that barely covered her ass, a tied-off pink-and-white checkered shirt, and her wheat-blond hair pulled back in a pony-tail. She enjoyed flirting with passing truckers, and watching her lean out the window to talk to or yell at other motorists made Shamira grin.

"Hey, can we stop and get a soda?" the bubbly young woman said. "I'm totally parched and would kill for a Diet Doctor Pepper."

"Yes, I'm sure that flashing your tits at the guys in the Ford F-150 with a rebel flag sticker must have been exhausting."

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