His attention turns down to the lump on the sofa and sparks black. One hand reaches for his gun, the other rips the duvet away. He points the gun in Matt’s face. “Are you fucking my girl?” Matt squeals and holds his palms up in surrender. As soon as Rafe realizes it’s just my Golden Retriever neighbor, he rolls his eyes. He flicks the end of the gun barrel in the direction of the hall. “All right. Get out before you piss yourself.” Matt doesn’t even glance back at me before bounding out of my apartment. Fucking traitor.
