“I’ve got him, QB. Go change your shirt before your girl comes back downstairs. It’s got blood on it, and she doesn’t need to see that shit anymore tonight.” Murphy gawks at Bash like he sprouted another head. “His girl?” Bash opens the door but turns his head back. “Yeah. His girl. Pay attention, Murph.” Then he walks outside. “What the hell is he talking about, man?” Murph’s question is directed at me, but I’m already halfway up the stairs and don’t bother answering. Bash is right. That girl is mine, and I’m a fucking idiot for not realizing it sooner.
