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    Summary

    “I don’t need a massage,” I say. “My feet are fine.”
    He rolls his eyes. “Right. I forgot that was the only reason I ever touch you.” Then he grins, clearly pleased. “And I definitely hate making you feel good.”

    Katniss had always understood massages for what they were—useful, practical, meant to ease aches and keep a body going. She’d never been one to seek them out. But that was before Peeta Mellark, and his bread-kneading hands that made usefulness feel like something else entirely.

    Language:
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