Every day I watch Henry hike up the hill while I walk down. And every single day I want to run my fingers through his hair, wrap my hands around his biceps, stroke…his…dog.
I never say a thing, though, because guys like him don’t date girls like me who aren’t model thin, who have a ten-inch scar down the middle of their chest, who may die on him…
I’m in no position to start a new relationship. I have plans to open my own store. I travel all the time. My dog died…
But there’s something about the girl with the messy blond hair who eats lots of tacos and wears homemade knit hats…in a city where it’s never cold. I know I shouldn’t go after her…but after I fondled…her…dog, I couldn’t help myself.
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