“Blow on my toes.” “Absolutely fucking not.” “Joey Lynch.” “Aoife Molloy.” “You said you’d be there for me.” “As your boyfriend and the father of your baby,” he spluttered, throwing his hands up. “Not as your personal fucking groomer.” “There were no stipulations spoken when you made your promises,” I argued. “Now come here and blow me.” “That’s my line.” “It won’t ever be again if you don’t do this for me.” “Jesus fucking Christ.” Rolling his eyes, Joey sank down on the edge of my bed and pulled my feet onto his lap. “You have an eejit made out of me.” “You’re the best,” I crooned
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