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The room was filled with a strange vibe of awkwardness that I was sure could only be dissolved by kissing him again or running away
E.M. Denning
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One month. Thirty days. I could bury myself in my art and forget the feel of his lips sliding across mine. I could forget the scent of his cologne, the way my body reacted when he touched me. I sighed. Thirty days suddenly seemed like an eternity
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