“So? Was it okay?” “Wait, what?” I ask, sitting upright. “Did he treat you with respect?” he practically huffs. “Was it good?” Slowly, it sinks in what he’s asking. “Oh my God,” I whisper. “You precious baby bird, you care.” Jason scowls at me. “You love me,” I say in glee. “Admit it. Tell me you love me and care about me and want to make sure my queer deflowering was everything I’d hoped and wished it would be.” “I regret everything,” he moans, dropping his head back against the couch. I pat his face. “You lovely little dumpling, Joey and I didn’t have sex.” He stills, and I pull my hand away
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