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“A rematch, greasy burger, and your cunt on my face. In that order exactly.”
In some of my dreams, I punch her square in the nose and tell her she’s a cunt.
“Because no one else does.”
Among other places, sir.
“Need a ride?” Everyone goes silent for a moment. Daria throws a look at her parents, asking a question, and Jaime arches an eyebrow. “Rephrase, kiddo.” “I apologize. Sir. Miss Followhill, will you do me the honor of getting into my cart? I have a hella big sword…”
“Is this a proposal?” “Nope”—I grin—“but it’s a promise you’ll be getting one before we graduate. Sound good?”