#442960 - Miranda got out of the car like syrup pouring from a bottle, striking the curb with her heels before undulating her body out into the dark air of the night from knee to shoulder and looking over the roof of my car at me. She tugged absent mindedly at one of her stylishly disheveled pigtails, biting her black bottom lip before turning to face me and asking, “Want me to show you my ‘certain someone’?” Bethany. “Miranda,” she said, smirking slyly, “but my friends call me Miranda.
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