If I was going to die, I wanted to go out in style. With attitude.
There was nothing dignified about peeing behind a tree with your super cute wilderness tour guide lurking nearby.
For once, speaking without a filter had not resulted in me kicking myself.
It could have been worse. It could have been a gym day and my sports bra had hit the floor at his feet.
In seventh grade, I endured seven minutes in heaven with Daniel. Really, only thirty seconds. We spent the other six and a half minutes comparing playlists.
Hit the lottery? Wealthy family? Drug dealer? I was afraid to ask.
Definitely bullet proof vests. Not a good sign.
Nothing about him was evil. Except maybe that grin of his.
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