“Aw, Harper,” Dallas murmurs, running his hands over Riley’s hips. “You got me a present.” “Six-four,” Riley mutters under his breath like he’s talking to himself and nods. Then louder, to Dallas, he says defiantly, “No, but I did.” His hands clamp onto Dallas’ ears. It happens in a flash. Him tugging Dallas’ head forward into his. Him bashing his forehead into Dallas’ nose. The crunch sound of something breaking.
