Feral Attraction
I whispered.
“I know,” he said, and his voice softened. “That’s what makes it hurt.”
For a while, neither of us said anything. The porch light buzzed faintly above us. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked.
Then, Milo leaned forward. “Okay, so... geography. What are we doing again?”
I let out a small laugh, grateful for the change of subject. “Climate zones of the United States.”
He frowned. “That’s... thrilling.”
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