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She laughs. "I guess so."

There. The waitress is walking by.

I hail her. Motion to Anna.

She orders another glass of white wine, some specific label, and a brussel sprout salad.

I order Jameson and sliders. Good whiskey, but not look at how much money I have showy.

Anna leans a little closer. "I think you might have me if you tell me you're a feminist."

"I have you already."

Her voice lifts. "You sure about that?"

"Yeah."

"Not so humble, I guess."

No. Not so humble.

I lean forward. Stare into Anna's blue eyes. Try to find something to latch onto—something I want.

She's hot. Smart. Funny.

But all I can think about is Kaylee.

Those big, green eyes.

All the hurt in them.

Because of me.

Necessary hurt, yeah. She needs to know I'm not available.

I need to know it.

I need to convince my body and my heart that there's no way I'll ever have Kaylee in my bed.

But, fuck, the thought of stripping her out of that sweet sundress, dragging those cotton panties to her ankles, and planting between her legs—

"So." She stares back at me. "Are you a feminist?"

"Who wouldn't be?"

"You'd be surprised."

Not really. I'm well aware of how shitty people can be. "I was punk rock when I was a teenager."

"Yeah? Red hair?"

"Once." I run my hand through my dark hair. "My girlfriend did it for me." It was more of a fling, but close enough. "My hair practically melted. Had to get one of those half-shaved haircuts."

"I can't imagine that."

I tug at my t-shirt. "Imagine this with an anarchy symbol."

She laughs. "And now?"

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