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... er, perfectly seasoned ribeye taste like cardboard.
Not because of anything the chef did.
It’s all because of him and the pheromones he’s dumping my way.
What tear in my vajayjay? There’s no tear, my brain insists, cajoling me into round two. Maybe on the dinner table. Or the kitchen counter.
The sofa’s good, too. Always fun to desecrate a sof—
No.
Damn it.
Nicole, stop listening to the pheromones.
I cut another piece of steak, plac ...
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