"Your girlfriend," she said, nodding toward Chloe, who was now deep in conversation with the ex-philosophy major, gesturing emphatically about the structural integrity of a certain synth beat. "She’s very good. The curated smile. The 'I just threw this on' vintage leather jacket that cost nine hundred dollars. The way she orders natural wine like she’s reciting poetry."
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"You like my girlfriend," I said slowly, the realization dawning. "Or… you like what she represents." "Your girlfriend," she said, nodding toward Chloe, who