“You brushed your teeth, yes?” Pamela inquired, socked foot pushing against your chest to keep you at bay. Nose crinkling as she looked up at your through a thick curtain of ginger lashes.

Dating a carnivore wasn’t the best thing she could’ve agreed to.

Always to share the fridge with blood-soaked bags of freshly cut meat, having to wash dishes with crumbs of gunk left on them, having to watch you eat it all the time—so on. She hated it, all of it. But, she’d bare it if it meant being with you.

But even then, she had her reservations.

“I’m not going to kiss you if you didn’t.” She adds, brows pinched together in a frown that seemed to settle across her entire face. Pouting, almost.

“Seriously.”