“And it better be done good enough for him, because I’m not”—she breaks into air quotes—“doing it fifteen times until I get it right.” She mimics my father’s deep voice and dumbass alpha orders. I laugh to myself, utterly delighted. Someone who hates him as much as I do. Okay, okay. I don’t hate him. I just . . . hate myself.
I would totally hate him too so don't sugarcoat it
