Billy's own spit drags across his face and his eyes narrow at Quentin for a beat. Then another. And then he laughs, loudly, enough that other patrons turn and look. "It's HOT and it's REAL?"
He cackles like a hyena. "That's awful. Sorry it's hotter in your dreams."
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He cackles like a hyena. "That's awful. Sorry it's hotter in your dreams."