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Chapter 12

Fifty pounds of pressure bore down on Brad’s chest as he struggled into consciousness. His head pounded. His body ached. His tongue clung to the roof of his mouth— a mouth so dry, it felt like someone had poured a bag of cat litter into it. To make matters worse, he had the distinct feeling that put in a good dent into Jessica’s bottle of Scotch wasn’t the only stupid thing he’d done last night.

Why the hell had he thought it would be a good idea to come clean with Mattie? Why the hell hard he thought she needed to know how he’d felt about her back in high school? And why the hell had he given in to the need to kiss her?

As if that would ever be enough. As if he’d ever be able to kiss her again without wanting to touch her. Without wanting to stripper clothes from that luscious body. Without needing to see—once and for all—the body that had fueled his teenage fantasies. Needing to explore every responsive inch of that body. Needing to drive her completely over the edge again and again
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