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Summary
“Sounds like an invitation, Bumatay.”
Laura knew that Anita both was and wasn’t playing chicken. She could make fun of her and it would stop there, no harm, no foul, but she also could…
She smirked. “Sure it is. My room, ten PM.”
Anita’s light pinged green. She stood up and stretched, kicking her heel against the uncomfortable seats in the Goblin, and swaggered over to the runway. “Sure thing.”