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Secrets

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Everyone's got `em. Everyone keeps `em. I don't like it. Not one bit. A man's entitled to his secrets. It's like a right or something.

`Cept now we got this girl, this creepy, moon-brained girl, that can pull the secrets right outta your head, and spread `em out on the table for everyone to see.

She scares the shit right outta me. And not for the reason the others would think. I have no doubt she can kill me with her brain, but that's nothing compared to what her brother would do to me if he knew, if he had a clue that sometimes, just sometimes, when it's just me and my hand, that I ain't thinking about women - that instead, I'm thinkin' about his pale, unmarked skin, his soft, pretty mouth and how much I want to get my hands, among other things, on his perfect, tight little ass.

So whenever I'm around her I think real hard about something else, about anything and everything but her brother. A man's got a right to his secrets. No one should take them away from him, not no one.