This fucking punk blinks at me, like I might be joking, but I’m not. I’m not going to walk away while this bitch stands here talking to Payton. “Yeah, okay.” He holds his hands up as he turns back to face my girl. Yeah, okay. God, I want to punch him in the face. Or pull my gun out and pistol whip him. Then he’d be too busy crying to flirt with Payton. “Want your usual?” Her voice glides over my skin. Or maybe I should just kill him. “You know it, babe.” I’m reaching for the Ruger at the small of my back before I even realize what I’m doing.
