“You can say fuck,” I told him. “What?” “I’m twenty-nine years old and I spent the last decade working in bars. You can say fuck. Shit, too.” “What about moist?” “Are you making a joke?” I arched a brow, the corner of my mouth tipping up. He winced. “Yeah. Sorry. Bad joke.” I snorted. “No, you can’t say moist. That’s gross.”
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