Page 89 of Undefeated

“Totally,” I responded.

“Okay, here we go,” she paused.

“I like to cook. You and Ripp like to eat out. I want to cook at least five meals a week at home, and I want you to eat them. You don’t have to like them, but no throwing food at me, screaming at me about what I cook, and no telling me I’m stupid for cooking something you don’t like. I know you want to eat good food, and I will take that into consideration. I like healthy too. Yes or no,” she looked up from the paper.

“Is that how we’re going to do this? Yes or no?” I asked as I placed the water on the end table beside the couch.

She tapped her hand once on the arm of the couch.

I shook my head and smiled.

This woman makes me fucking happy.

“Yes,” I said.

“Okay. Next one. I want to wash my own car. I don’t want you washing it. You can drive it, or whatever, because we’re a couple. I want to wash it,” she looked up and into my eyes as she finished reading.

“Yes.”

She smiled and looked down at the paper. “Okay, next. I want to get a Goodreads account, Facebook, and maybe some other things on the internet. I think this will help me become more social. Oh, and I want more friends - more than Liv from the coffee shop. I want real friends,” she looked up from the paper, her face began to look worried.

“Yes,” I responded sharply.

She bounced in her chair, and pulled excitedly on each side of the wrinkled paper to straighten the wrinkles.

“Okay. Next, almost done. I know I don’t have to say this, but I need to. It’s important,” she looked up from the paper and waited.

“Okay?” I responded.

Without looking down at the paper, she continued, “If you ever lay a hand on me. Slap me, hit me, grab me, push me, anything. I’m gone. I’ll leave you and never come back.”

She looked as if she was going to start crying.

“Kace, I’ll never lay a hand on you. Ever. I promise,” I responded, realizing it was a huge step for her to mention this. It was her way of taking a stance against what had already happened to her.

She wiped her face with the back of her hand and sniffed. “Okay. I just had to say it.”

She looked back down at the paper. “Last thing,” she folded the paper and stood up.

I stood up.

“No, you sit. I’ll be right back,” she said as she took off in a dead run for the kitchen.

I turned and looked over my shoulder as she reached into her purse and pulled out her Kindle. She ran back to the chair and plopped down, bouncing in her seat as she turned on the device.

“Let me finish,” she said, her face focused on the screen of the Kindle.

“Kace you need to start first,” I responded.

“I know, I’m just saying, this is a long one,” she said as she flipped her finger across the screen of the Kindle.

“Okay,” I responded as I picked up my bottle of water from the end table.

“You’re not going to hurt me emotionally from sex. You’re too cautious, too careful, and you never even talk during sex. I’m not as fragile as you think. I’ve spent ten years getting fucked over, and not getting fucked. I want you to fuck me sometimes. And sometimes we can make love. But I never want you to worry about fucking me and harming me emotionally. This is what I want,” she looked up from the screen of her Kindle as she finished talking.

“Oh. Wow, okay. Well, what do you mean, specifically? Regarding fucking?” I asked, shocked that this was her last question.

She jumped up from her seat and squeaked as she did. She handed me her Kindle and ran back to her seat.