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Summary
“I was gonna tell ya I’m makin’ dinner. For you. For us. If you want.”
Amber gasps. “Wow, Joey. That almost sounds romantic,” she giggles, and Joey stares at her blankly. He furrows his brow.
“Almost? I’m cookin’ you dinner while you lie in my bed, where the fuck is the ‘almost’?”
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Or: Joey and Amber get rid of the ‘almost’.