“It wouldn’t end well,” he said, thinking out loud.
“Don’t you think I know that?” she asked. “He even told me that he...gets even for what the brunette did to him, with other women.” She flushed.
“He doesn’t talk about it, to anyone,” he repeated. “Why did he tell you?”
“I don’t understand why, either,” she replied. “He hates brunettes.”
“You have to make sure he doesn’t develop a taste for you,” he said firmly.
She nodded. She was remembering how it felt to kiss him, to be in his arms, and she didn’t want to. She didn’t dare tell Gabriel how things had already gotten physical between them.
“Don’t worry,” she said gently, and smiled. “I’m not suicidal.”
* * *
A FEW DAYS LATER, she had occasion to remember those words.
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