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Summary
Thomas knew lots of things about Ali: her shoe size, how many diopters she had in each eye, or how many beers she could drink to beat Roy on any given Friday night. But at that moment, he found it hard to figure out what was going through her mind.
Until one of the blonde’s eyebrows arched, giving away her intentions, and the imaginary lightbulb above the redhead’s head began to glow.
“Ali, no.”
“Thomas, yes.”
“I’m not going to pretend to be your date at the wedding.”