Kristin'd got lucky, that first time back in Bay City, when she'd managed to snatch one from him. But now he knows she hates the cigarettes, and he's going to be a dick about it forever.

She gives her food one last look before she pushes herself to her feet. What appeal her meal had hasn't come back. And the alternative's standing there before her, slump-shouldered, hair falling in his face. It's been a fucking terrible day, and she's still frustrated with the hour she spent stomping around the ship, looking for a way to get at the admiral. "Not if you taste like an ashtray."

Which is the closest she's getting to do you want me to? - let alone to the fact that he could smoke the rest of the pack, and she'd still stick around.