“Tess, I . . . I don’t know what I am doing. You kissed me first, remember?” he reminds me.
“Yeah . . . I was drunk, remember? And you kissed me first yesterday.”
“Yeah . . . You didn’t stop me.” He pauses. “It must be exhausting,” he says.
What? “What must be exhausting?”
“Acting like you don’t want me, when we both know you do,” he says, and steps closer.
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