Chapter 3

He’s trying to soothe with his tone, but his words are not helping. His submissive pose and pleading cute boy face, the one he pulls out whenever he’s pissed me off. None of that is helping him, especially when I know him well enough to know it’s all an act. He is saying what he thinks will smooth my mood and pat down my ruffled feathers.

King of all assholes.

I storm from the shelves before I get the urge to throw something at him and grab a throw pillow from the couch instead. It’s made from some sort of fur, like real fur, flat, smooth rawhide fur, and I grimace as I touch it. It’s awful, and I am such an anti-real fur!

I turn and throw that at him in disgust instead, trying to vent some of this spiraling energy inside of me that’s fit to burst out. He dodges and frowns, still trying not to smile, and I do not see what is funny about this. I never understood his infatuation with my tantrummy side or that he finds it cute and amusing when I am on the verge of cau