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Chiron's furry head rested on Troy's leg, snoring. Troy sat cross-legged on one end of the couch. Tousling the floppy ears absently, he read the private message again.
Are you fucking hitting on me, cocksucker?
Troy had absolutely no idea how to respond. Or whether he should respond.
He wasn't even sure how it happened.
This, he thought darkly, was why he stayed away from social media.
All he'd meant to do was like Harris' last post. And now some fucking asshole was spouting off homophobic slurs.
He threw the phone down.
"What's wrong?" Harris approached, ice cream in hand.