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Robby finally piped up: "Kind of a shame, though. Guy seemed like your type."
Jack felt himself wanting to bristle, quickly controlling it. Because what the fuck. They'd been entirely wrapped up in each other in the year since Pittfest, Robby finally going to therapy, letting them get more serious than the fuckbuddy deal they'd had going before that. Jack had thought things were going well. "I have a type?" he challenged, raising his eyebrows.