On Tuesday, making fun of the band from behind the crowd at Soho, he said, "So in order to spend the whole day in bed, I think you need to spend the night on Friday."
I said, "Oh, is there a script I should be following, too?"
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On Wednesday, making out with my chastity bike in between us, he said, "So I think you should probably plan on waking up at my place on Sunday."
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On Thursday, making out in his bed with my chastity period in between us, he said, "I have an admission to make: I'm really looking forward to this weekend."
"Should I bring anything?" I asked.
"No. You should bring nothing. No clothes. A toothbrush. Take-out menus. We're not leaving this apartment. You're too far away; come here."