#* heather

"'Sup, psycho." Rafe had been completely unable to turn away from the opportunity when he'd finally caught Heather standing on her own. Was it necessary? Absolutely the fuck not, but he'd never been too hard-pressed to push his luck at almost every damn turn. But, admittedly, he was still furious that she'd thought to accuse him of murdering Sasha. His hand fell against her shoulder as he rounded her from behind, dipping low to speak against the shell of her ear as he snatched the champagne flute in her hand, "How long 'till your next meltdown? I think it'd be best if we pre-warned everyone, just in case you decide to take a page from your brothers' book."