“No,” I replied, sipping dramatically. “We’re done.”
He took a step forward. Big mistake.
I didn’t wait.
I threw the mug straight at him—not the cup, mind you, the contents—scalding-hot revenge roast straight to the face. He screamed like a banshee in heat.
Then, I kicked him so hard where the sun didn't shine, the entire male population winced telepathically.
He bent over like a folding chair. But I wasn’t done. Not today. Not ever.
I punched him so hard, POW! the air left the room and his spirit nearly left his body. He collapsed like a dropped lasagna—sloppy, loud, and embarrassing.
That’s when the front door flew open.
“YAAAAS!” Jhing Jhing screamed, standing there like a cheerleader of chaos with a Bluetooth headset on. “She did it! She landed the punch! Mylene—bring popcorn!
