Maybe they should rename the damn placeNepotism Central Security.
That thought almost makes me laugh.
“O-M-G! Did you see that?” Rand points to my face. “It’s like he’s trying to smile! I never thought I’d see the day.”
“Dude. Did you just say O-M-G, like a teenager?” Flint snort-laughs.
Rand sniffs and makes a W with his fingers and thumbs. “What-ever.”
Flint shakes his head. “Faylor is rubbing off on you.”
I signal to the bartender for a refill, trying to tune out these fuckers.
The bartender is squatty with a salt-and-pepper flattop. He has to be in his 60s but looks like that wouldn’t stop him from handling his shit in a crisis.
He’s also wearing a T-shirt that says:Surely not everybody was Kung Fu fighting.
That does make me laugh, just a bit.
“O-M-G!” Flint imitates Rand’s voice. “I did see it. Right there. It’s a smile. Mark this down. Tattooed Mofo has a sense of humor.”
I squint at him. “Rumors of my funny bone are greatly exaggerated. Other bones, however…”
Flint and Rand howl with laughter. I am doing my best not to smile because I have a reputation to uphold. But these two make it hard to remain stoic.
“Why don’t you want to talk about your past?” Rand whines.
I shrug.
“We could get Tatiana on it,” Flint says casually. “That woman can hack anyone’s life.”
My spine bristles. I already passed the background check to work at Saber Security. If Tatiana Martel, their resident hacker, went looking, she wouldn’t find much that wasn’t already there for her to see. But there’s always a slim chance she could unearth something.
I can’t take that chance.
And that means I have to play along.
I down the second shot of whiskey. “Fine. What do you want to know?”
Rand claps his hands together. “Well, for starters, are you married? Girlfriend? Boyfriend?Luv-ah? Not that it matters, but if we’re going to pry into your personal business, I’d like to get it straight. Or correct. Not straight. You don’t have to be straight. Gay is fine. Or pan. Or non-binary.”
Flint glares at Rand. “What he’s trying to say…”
“Are you mansplaining me?”
“Are you using the wordmansplaining?”
“Guys,” I hold up my hands. “Straight. No woman at present.”
Rand wiggles on his rickety bar stool. “See? Was that so hard?”
I shrug.
“A man of few words,” Flint sips his drink. “We know you’re from South Dakota, but does your family still live there? Do you visit?”
I bristle again. The best lies are the ones closest to the truth. “No.”
“No, your family doesn’t live there? Or, no, you don’t visit?” Flint frowns.
