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was strumming his guitar.
“Are you serenading me?”
Starsky leaned over the couch and blew in Hutch’s ear.
“In your dreams!” Hutch
snorted, nonetheless, he turned his head to meet Starsky’s lips in a lingering kiss.
“I like it,” Starsky said,
being vague whether he meant the kiss or the tune Hutch was composing.
“Who’s this for?”
he asked, caressing Hutch’s nape of the neck.
“It’s a birthday song for
Sweet Alice. One year ago she started a new life as a student at college. Do you help me with the lyrics, partner?”
Starsky’s answer sealed Hutch’s
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