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Chapter Two Hundred Seventy-Seven

ANASTACIA

When Paul places a papaya-less Piña Colada on the table in front of me, he retakes his seat. He hasn't fixed himself a drink and I ponder why for only a moment before I take a healthy sip and close my eyes, moaning with pleasure.

"Mmm," I murmur. "That's really good."

When I meet hi...

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