“I can’t move all of that by myself! You should know I lose all my feminism when it comes to lifting heavy stuff.” I stomp up the three steps that lead into the kitchen. “Then beg.” He turns swiftly, hands in the pocket of his trousers. I’m convinced this man has a fear of jeans or casual clothes. “Excuse me?” “You heard me. Want my help carrying your garbage to our room? Get on your knees and beg for it.” I want to punch him so hard he’ll be shaking hands with the devil. “You want me to beg you? Who do you think you are? Leader of the Bravta?” He shrugs as if it’s no big deal. “You said you
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