![]() “Lane didn’t even smoke pot, and almost everyone I know smokes pot,” I whisper, pulling my eyes from the picture to look at him. He asked me out every time we saw each other, and he was always dramatic in the way he did it, which I thought at the time was kind of cute. I finally gave in to him, because he was so persistent. I had waited forever to even go on a date with him, because I wasn’t ready for a relationship. It was our third date and our first kiss. His head was bent toward mine, my hand was resting against his chest, and his was wrapped tight around my hip. ![]() I was wearing a short, colorful summer dress and gold strappy sandals, and Lane had on a pair of black cargo shorts and a plain white tee. “What?” I whisper as my eyes focus on one of the pictures of Lane and me standing outside my apartment. ![]() ![]() “Lane Diago’s uncle is one of the biggest distributors of illegal narcotics in Alabama, Kentucky, Tennessee, Mississippi, Georgia, and South Carolina.” ![]()
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