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Chapter 4

Marcel came around the corner at the same second I re-zipped my jeans. “So…” he started, glancing once—then, eyes wide, a second time—at my bulging fly. “What are you doing?”

“Oh, nothing,” I replied, ever-so-casually. “Just admiring your office. These medals are so cool.”

“Thanks,” he said. “So…” this time he directed his gaze, and mine, to my foot. “You’re feeling better, I see.”

Shit! I frantically raked the room with my eyes for my crutches, reaching out for their protection, coming up empty.

“They’re in your room,” he said. “I’m glad—I thought you seemed to be getting better.”