She narrowed her eyes. “Get your ass up, Molloy.” “Never.” “Don’t make me climb on there and get you.” “You wouldn’t dare.” “Try me.” After a ten second stare down we both dove for my duvet at the same time, arms flailing and legs kicking. “If you’re not ready to get over your ex by getting under one of those fine-ass rugby boys, then I will take one for the team and do it for you,” she growled, wrestling the blanket out of my hands, as she straddled me. “But you’re still coming with me to be my wing woman.” “Never,” I protested, trying and failing to knock her off by bucking my hips. “How are
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