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Summary
He keeps shifting towards Rooster like he’s testing his chances with a rabid dog, evaluating the cost of making the wrong move. Rooster imagines snapping forward, biting into his throat like a wolf and leaving him bleeding on the ground for his troubles.
He fought off the urge to slam his face forward and worry about the headache later when Jake felt safe enough to get barely an inch away from his face. He could feel Jake’s breath, watches his lips as he throws out a shit-eating smile, and stares as he walks away with the energy of someone who’s won some sort of trophy.
Rooster won’t let him win.
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