Smokin'

“What are you doing? You said you'd quit,” said Sharon as she pulled the cigarette right out of my mouth. The sun had set a few hours ago. But it was springtime and still warm. Sharon was fresh from a bath and I had just come back from my evening run.

“I did. I'll quit again right after this,” I told her, reaching for the pack of cigarettes I'd left on the counter. She beat me to it. Damn she was fast. “Hand them over,” I said, trying to sound bored instead of desperate.

“No.” She was holding them behind her back. “You've gone an entire month. Don't blow it.”

I reached, wondering what on earth had possessed me to let a woman move into the extra bedroom. Sharon twisted her body, so her back was now solidly pressed against the kitchen counter. I attacked. I moved in swiftly, pinning her between my body and the countertop, placing one hand on either side of her.

“I want those cigarettes,” I whispered in her ear. “Hand them over.”

She looked up at me, her green eyes sparkling with mischief, “I thought big tough guys like you just took what they wanted.”