“Ellie gonna come over when we get back to Lincoln and bake cookies?” Ignoring the way in which he meant that, I reach down under the seat and pull up the container she brought me. “She already did.” I open the container and see a shit load of cookies shaped as jerseys and pucks. Bass reaches over and snatches the one that has his name and number on it. “Wife it.” I can’t help but laugh. “We’re just starting out.” He takes a bite and groans. “Known her all your life and actually like her. And she makes a mean fucking cookie. Wife it.” “I’m surprised you can even say that word without bursting
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