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... seven seconds before the first moan leaked through.
Genevieve and Maya sat on opposite ends of the living room couch—one woman who’d known Peter for less than twenty-four hours, and one who’d been living in the blast radius of his existence for much longer.
Between them: three cushions of neutral space, a glass coffee table with an untouched bowl of fruit that was rapidly becoming Maya’s emotional support produce section, and the ...
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