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“All this for the price of getting you drunk?” Dakota toes through the pile of clothing on the floor.

James sprawls on the bed, wildly naked. He smiles. “I’m a cheap drunk, too.”

“Cheaper than my fucking therapist,” says Dakota. “Whose appointment I have missed now, and will be charged for…” He finds the underwear and tries to catch them off his foot. He misses.

“I am a fucking therapist.” James sits up and scratches. “I fuck. I… therap.”

“Doctor James,” Dakota asks mockingly, “my mother’s disappointed by my lifestyle.”

James shrugs. “Your mother named you ‘Dakota.’ What did she expect?”