“Fucking finally,” Johnny muttered, dragging out a rectangular box of ibuprofen from the side pocket of his bag. He popped two small tablets out from the foil encasement, then held them out to me. Clumsily, I tried and failed to take the tablets from his fingers. Flushed, I tried again and again, failing miserably until I managed to knock them out of his hands altogether. “Relax,” he encouraged me, stooping down to scoop up the pills. I watched him wipe them on the front of his hoodie and then he blew my mind with three words, “Open your mouth.” I gaped. “I can do it.” “You obviously can’t,”
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