Her lipstick was smudged when she cocked the gun.
“You hesitated,” she said, voice low.
“I was trying not to kill my own,” I murmured.
She stepped closer, straddled my lap, eyes burning into mine.
“I love you,” she whispered, “but next time you freeze, I’ll shoot first.”
Then she kissed me—hard, final.
A promise.
A threat.