“Just the ones I really like,” the man purred, faux sweet. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”
“Conan,” He found no reason to lie. “And you are…?”
The strangest thing happened next. He could see the moment the man considered lying, and then the moment he decided not to. It was like observing a snake slip its skin, leaving something translucent behind.
“Lam,” the man said. He had a real nice voice too, throaty and smooth, that went with his pretty features. If he hadn’t just concussed and tried to drive a knife into Conan, Conan would be halfway to love already.
“Lamb?” He asked.
“Lam, L-A-M,” Lam said pointedly. The knife pressed harder into Conan’s neck. It must have cut finally, because Conan felt a dribble of blood slide down his neck.
Lam’s eyes snapped to it.
“Lam,” Conan said slowly, tasting the sound of it on his tongue. “Well, what’s a guy like you doing under a bridge like this?”
The joke was a risk, but considering how strange his current situation was, a risk might be the play. Lam hadn’t cut his neck yet, so there was some wiggle room here for saving his tail.
Lam laughed, all teeth, and it sounded like a threat. “I have a better question, why were you following me, big guy?”
Now they were getting somewhere.
“I, uh, didn’t get an opportunity to ask for your number at the bar,” Conan said. “And I have your scarf.” Then he realized he wasn’t sure if he still had it. It had been on his arm, but then everything had gone sideways. “Hadyour scarf.”
It still had to be around here somewhere.
“I see,” Lam said. His eyes wandered around, and he must’ve spotted it, because then he nodded, Conan’s story checked out. “So you thought chasing me down in the middle of the night would get you, what? My gratitude and my phone number?”
Conan smiled, dialing the charm all the way up. He was laying on the dirty ground concussed with a knife to his throat, but there was no better time for flirting, right? “That and more if you’re in the mood. How’s about it, baby? You lookin’ for some company tonight?”
The mask of humor fell from Lam’s face, his eyes narrowing again. “What’re you doing? Does that usually work?”
Alright, Conan had laid it on a little too thick there.
“Usually.” Conan tilted his head up to get a look at how he’d been restrained. “...Are those police zip ties?”
“They are,” Lam said, “So I wouldn’t bother trying to break them.”
“I see,” Conan turned his gaze back to Lam. Well, this was different.
Lam man was sitting astride his stomach, the knife in one hand and the other seemingly at rest. Conan would bet all the money he didn’t have that if he tried to move his hands, he’d find out just how quick Lam could be with that knife.
“So… where do we go from here?” Conan asked.
Lam looked at him thoughtfully. He looked good too doing so, bright-eyed and shrouded in darkness. The wool coat was turned up at the collar, accenting the sharp lines of his face. Hehad a beauty mark just under one eye and an uptilt to his lashes that was feminine. Pretty.
Pretty and vicious, if that knife was to be believed.
“There’s usually more fighting at this point,” Lam said.
Thatusuallyheld a lot of weight.
Conan laughed. It wasn’t how he’d imagined his evening going, but for some reason it still felt like there was an opportunity here. Like he wasn’t yet banished to a restless night in his car just yet.
“I could struggle more, if that’s what does it for you,” Conan offered.
Lam seemed to genuinely consider the offer. Hm.
“I’m trying to decide if you mean that,” Lam said after a few seconds.
