The next day is warm for a change. A little tingle shoots through me when I see Declan’s truck idling in his usual pick-up spot outside school. I’m pulling the passenger door shut when his fingers circle my wrist. He pulls, stretching my arm out, exposing the inside. Should have kept my jacket on.
“What happened to you?” He points to the purplish streaks just above my wrist.
“Cowboy boots.” I snatch my arm back and hug it to my side.
“What did they do? Walk across your arm?” His brows come together, wrinkling his forehead.
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