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... ment. The way that man looked at me—his gaze crawling over my skin like something physical, like he had a right to see, to assess, to want. It made my stomach turn.
I run a hand through my messy silver hair, my fingers catching in the knots.
Neon, you absolute fool. You always embarrass yourself. What must Deniz think of you?
Running out there half-dressed, covered in evidence of last night, in front of his teacher?
I look up at the ceiling, letting out a long, f ...
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