I am afraid of almost everything ordinary, yet a tattooed mafia enforcer named Tristan never made me want to run.
After I fled a creep and collided with his chest, I begged him to pretend to be my boyfriend, and he answered with an arm around me and a threat meant to warn the man off.
He walked me home, met my emotional-support bunny, and kissed me as if I were already his.
When his black SUV was still outside my building two days later, I knew exactly what the red flags meant. I got in anyway.
