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Summary
Justin’s grip tightened on the neck of the beer he was nursing. It was cold, so he took another sip. A wave of adrenaline rushed through him as he swallowed.
Brian was whispering to the trick he was dancing with, nodding in the direction of the back room, and for a moment Justin felt sick. Then came the anger, completely unjustifiable. [...]
'Brian's not your fucking mate,' he had to remind himself. [...] But why then did he feel like he wanted to cry?
