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Ninety-One

The scolding hot liquid drenched through my shirt and onto my chest. "Mother Fucker!" I shouted as I jumped up from my chair and pealed the soaked shirt from my torso. My breath was ragged and shaky as I held the shirt away from me trying not to think about my burning flesh.

"What the fuck just happened?" I turned and saw Mark standing in the doorway to the coffee shop. He looked at the guy on the floor, and then at me covered in coffee with a pained expression.

"I am so sorry! I didn't mean to. My foot hit that chair, and I fell! Are you okay?" The guy hoped up from the ground, and I tilted my head back as I fanned the fabric of my shirt

The feeling of someone dabbing my chest had my eyes shooting open. Mark stood in front of me with a glare that could melt a glacier as he blotted my top with a wad of napkins. His stare burned into my chest hotter than the coffee did, but I knew he wasn't mad at me. He was mad at the guy who had hurt me, and by the tick in his

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