“It’s not what you think.” Matt, my boyfriend, sprung from his buddy’s couch, his tanned hands moving in front of him and into his hair. The longish, messy brown hair I loved running my fingers through. His hands kept moving—in front of him, around, everywhere. Everywhere except back on the body of the girl beside him. “Lila.” Matt stepped toward me as though approaching a frightened woodland creature. “You weren’t supposed to be here tonight.”
The fuck?! It's definitely what she thinks Asshole. You're clearly cheating on her.
