“You asked me not to fight you at every turn, but you promised to be fifteen percent less condescending,” she reminded him. “So you have to let me win sometimes.” Preston’s lips thinned. “Fine,” he relented. “You can win this one, whatever that means to you.” Pleased by his acquiescence, Effy considered what a suitable trophy would be. “It means you have to give me your coffee.” He heaved an enormous, persecuted sigh, but passed her the mug.
She is soo immature. Dear Lord 😬
