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Things We Left Behind (Knockemout, #3)(70)

Author:Lucy Score

“She probably does,” Knox agreed aggressively.

I held up a finger. “Wait. I’m confused.”

“No one’s arguin’ that this isn’t a good cause. But I don’t want to deal with the fallout of you three going in there and getting your hearts broken over some sad story about how life ain’t fair.”

Knox Morgan couldn’t stand tears and brokenhearted females. They were his kryptonite.

“You don’t want us to try to do something good because you’ll be inconvenienced by our feelings?” Naomi looked as if she’d forgotten all about Knox’s dishwasher-loading prowess.

“That’s not what I said, Daze.”

“Actually,” Lina interjected, “it kind of is.”

“Not helping, Solavita,” Knox said under his breath.

“Don’t take a tone with her, or I’ll kick your ass and then arrest it,” Nash warned his brother.

I stood up on the ottoman and whistled. “Everyone shut up!”

They all shut their mouths and looked at me.

“Obviously, this is a hot-button issue. Let me do a little more research, and then we can discuss this like rational adults.”

There was a grumbling chorus of “fines” and “okays.”

“Hey, what do you guys like to take for cramps?” Lina asked me suddenly.

Knox and Lucian vanished from the room like someone had just suggested we form a trust circle.

Nash ran his hands over Lina’s hips. “You okay, Angel?”

She winked at him. “Yeah. I just wanted to get the testosterone out of here so I can interrogate Sloane about her dating app.”

“On that note, I’m out.” But he didn’t leave before planting a steamy kiss on his fiancée.

“Wow,” I said, fanning myself.

“Yeah. Wow,” Lina said dreamily as we all watched Nash leave. He really did have a butt that didn’t quit.

The haze disappeared when Nash’s ass did. I flopped back down on the couch. Waylon the basset hound hurled himself into my lap, pinning me to the cushion. He let out a snorty sigh as I played with his silky ears.

“So how’s the app going? How many men are you talking to? Any dates lined up?” Lina asked.

“I think I might not have completed the profile correctly. I haven’t matched with anyone. No messages, no matches, no unsolicited dick pics.”

“You must have just missed a step in the setup process,” Naomi said loyally.

“Lemme see,” Lina said.

I opened the app and tossed my phone to her.

Lina’s eyebrows arched. “I’m sorry. Are you trying not to get laid?” she asked.

“What are you talking about?” Had I accidentally uploaded the wrong picture? Maybe someone had hacked my account and said I was into ritual sacrifice and attending spelling bees.

“It can’t be that bad,” Naomi insisted. Lina turned the screen in her direction, and my friend winced. “Okay. She’s definitely self-sabotaging.”

“What exactly is so wrong with my profile?” I demanded, struggling with the dead weight of the snoring basset hound.

“Let’s ask the experts,” Lina suggested.

“Don’t you dare!”

But it was too late. The men, who had obviously been eavesdropping again, appeared in the doorway.

“Someone say experts?” Nash asked with a charming grin.

Lina held up my phone. “Tell me why you wouldn’t click on this profile.”

The Morgans leaned in and then out again in unison.

“Jesus, Sloaney. What are you trying to do, repel dicks?” Knox said.

I withered in embarrassment as Lucian glanced at the screen. Unlike his friends, he didn’t flinch. He smirked.

“What’s the first problem?” Lina asked as if she were instructing a class.

“Cat,” the brothers said together.

“Wait. What about the cat? Cats are cute,” I argued.

“A cat in the profile picture says crazy cat lady,” Nash explained.

“And cat in the username screams it,” Knox added, stroking his beard. “Then there’s the hair color.”

Waylon snorted out another snore, vibrating my lap. “It was Santa Story Hour. The red and green were temporary,” I said defensively.

“Wild hair colors in the main profile picture is a clue that the woman could be high-maintenance and—” Nash said.

“Attention whorey,” Knox added.

I grabbed my dyed ends. “That’s rude.”

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