It was supposed to be hot.
I had a plan.
A sexy text. A little mid-afternoon tease.
I was going for sultry, maybe a little naughty. I typed fast, adrenaline pumping.
And then I hit send.
Except autocorrect—or my own distracted brain—turned “I want your hands on me” into:
“I want your hands on the groceries.”
Yes.
Groceries.
Lik…
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