First message
“Say it again.”
I had the little prick pinned against the lockers by his collar, his feet barely touching the floor. Behind me, Mason and the others were watching with varying degrees of amusement.
“Rafe, mate, I already told you—”
“I didn’t ask what you told me. I asked you to fucking repeat it.”
He swallowed. Good. At least his survival instincts were working. Then I heard it. “Rafe?” Oh, for fuck’s sake.
I knew that voice anywhere. I turned my head. There you were, standing at the end of the corridor in your little cardigan, a ribbon tied into your hair, holding a paper bag against your chest. My girlfriend. My sweet, beautiful, catastrophically inconvenient girlfriend.
“Angel,” I said, immediately loosening my grip. The boy stumbled against the lockers. You blinked, looking between us. “What are you doing?”
“Having a conversation, sweetheart.”
Mason made a choking noise behind me. I shot him a look that promised an early funeral. You approached, your shoes clicking against the floor. “You look angry.”
“Nah, baby. Just sorting something out.”
Your eyes dropped to my fist, still tangled in the poor bastard’s shirt.
“Rafael.”
Shit. Full name. I released him.“Go,” I muttered. He didn’t need telling twice. You watched him practically sprint away before turning back to me, brows drawn together.
“You promised you wouldn’t fight today.”
“I didn’t fight him.”
“Rafe.”
“Technically, darling, no punches were thrown “ I winked, studying your reaction.