“Iris, what the hell is this? Since when do I take sugar in my coffee?” He shoves the cup at me. Some of it sloshes over the side, scalding my hand. I gasp, wiping the wetness away on my jeans and rubbing at the tender spot. “I’m sorry, babe.” He looks concerned for half a second. “If you could bring me a coffee the way I take it, I’d really appreciate it.”
I dont like the way he's acting, I don't have a good feeling about this behaviour at all..
