Tapping my foot. Him.“Good morning! Or should I say afternoon?”“You can go-“He tsked me. I hate that! I turned my head away and hmphed. He gav... that chuckle that I love and hate. Tapping my foot again.“Good, I’m glad you ate. You have long day ahead of you…we both do…princess.”I stamped my foot, “Don’t you call me that! You can NEVER call me that!”“Shall I call you brat instead?”Hands on my hips, “I don’t care what you call me. Just. Let. Me. Go. Now.”He just laughed at me, “Oh my, aren’t you. I needed to pee, but I didn't want to follow behind the retreating Richard so soon. I was still flush with frustration."Thank you for that," I said quietly.He tipped his head, questioningly."For not making a scene. I hate scenes."He laughed and turned back to the bar. "You handled it better than I ever could have," he said, sipping his beer. I took a sip of mine; it was warm. I motioned for the pretty bartender, who, though she was with another customer, nodded and smiled at me. "I got it,". More

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