Frida

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Beau’s head shoots up, an expression of shock painting his face. “Are you joking right now?” I bite hard on the inside of my cheek. “No. I told him about the one that has all these different vibration settings and the one that has this little suction cup that attaches to the wall. Oh, and the one that straight up looks like a real dick but way, way bigger—” He leans across the table and covers my mouth to silence me.
Hopeless (Chestnut Springs, #5)
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