He's certifiably crazy.
Through gritted teeth, I warn, "I don't like repeating myself and I won't press charges if you leave. Now."
His smile disappears. "If it makes you feel more comfortable, pull your gun."
I close my eyes in frustration and then realize what I've done and open them again. My gun isn't the problem; his damned guns aka ripped arms, are. No one involved in crime should have a body like Moon's. His cologne drifts over me and I inhale deeply. Somehow he's found that perfect match that accents his natural man-smell. Add in his blue eyes, which capture everything going on around him, and I'm having heart palpitations that have nothing to do with my apartment being broken into. I pull in another long breath to gain a small semblance of control. I'm unwilling to stand and po
