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Summary
“Morning,” Brent murmured, tracing his hand from her chest to the curve of her hips.
She made a noise that he figured was supposed to be, "Good morning to you, too."
Grey light spilled in through their cracked blinds. Past Alex, on the nightstand shoved up against the bed, was the alarm clock. It's numbers glowed a bright red in the dim light: 8:45AM.
Which meant they had time.
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A Lynx learns to never trust a Fox.
