Andrea's POVThen there was Marcus, the charming journalism student who'd pursued me relentlessly my junior year. We'd gone on a handful of dates, and he'd been perfect on paper—smart, funny, attractive, ambitious. But when he'd looked at me, I didn't feel that electric charge I'd felt under Dante's gaze. When he'd touched my hand across the dinner table, I didn't feel my skin ignite the way it had when Dante's fingers had wrapped around my wrist.I'd tried. God, I'd really tried to move on, to find someone who made me feel even a fraction of what I'd felt during those confusing, intense days in New York.But no one measured up.No one had Dante's intensity, his darkness, the way he'd looked at me like I was something precious and dangerous all at once. No one made my heart race with just a smirk or a nickname I pretended to hate. No one kissed me like the world was ending and I was the only thing that mattered.I'd eventually stopped trying to date altogether, telling myself I was fo
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