As she stood in the kitchen quietly contemplating to herself, he came up behind and grabbed her by the waist. His hug was warm and endearing, heartfelt in its intention. It barely registered on her though.
“What’s for dinner darling?” Same old shit, he never cooked, just ate. Eating and fucking they were his two best skills in life. Lucky bastard.
“I don’t want to cook tonight, I’m not cooking you can sort yourself out” Kinsey snapped back.
“Are you shitty? What’s wrong darling come tell me about it.” He was semi-interested, enough to ensure his next meal anyway.
“Just work stuff” she said “I don’t wanna talk about it.”
“Then don’t, but I’m still getting hungry and you need to take good care of me now, so let’s talk about dinner.” This fucking guy, she couldn’t believe he was still pushing it.
“I’m NOT cooking” she yelled.
“And I’m not asking Kinsey. Don’t test me now.” His warning was stern, and she knew there wouldn’t be a second warning.
She thought hard for a second about her next response, she knew full well it would dictate the rest of the evening.
“Fuck you. What are you going to do?” She knew she’d sealed her fate with those words, and braced herself for what was to come.