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... ressed to the cool glass, fogging up from his breath. A half-empty beer bottle dangled loose in his fingers like an afterthought.
Outside, the city’s neon glow pulsed, pinks, blues, blinding whites bleeding into the fake-ass night sky. None of it touched the irritation churning in his gut.
Fucking Nash. Fucking party. Should’ve stayed home.
He’d stormed out earlier, pissed about all the bullshit favoring Nash, how the whole crew was drowning in booze and bad decisions. � ...
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