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She’s like a cat that’s eaten the proverbial canary and gives no fucks that it has feathers sticking out of its jaw. At the third bite, something inside me snaps. I close the distance between us and pry the shit out of her hand. “You are not eating a cock sandwich,” I snarl. “Not in this house.”
“Is it cock?” I snarl, wanting to get under his skin. He flinches. “No, it’s turkey and cheese. Sorry to disappoint, but no human men were maimed in the production of this meal.”
“You can’t go around stabbing every man who shows you disrespect,” I say. “Why not?”
“Hairdryer,” I mutter. “What?” “I threw a hairdryer into his bath. The toaster oven would have needed an extension lead, and it was too far away.”
Seraphine is a tornado in a Tiffany box. You never know what to find in that pretty little package.
