I coughed into my drink. “You’re impossible.”
He leaned closer, whispering, “Is it Moretti or Volkov?”
I pretended not to hear him.
Crash:Don’t look now, but my engineer has a beer moustache in his actual moustache.
I fought the urge to look over, keeping my gaze fixed on my phone.
Danger:Shush. I am with my editor.
Crash:Is that who that is? I thought maybe it was your husband.
A laugh—loud and involuntary—escaped me. I clapped a hand over my mouth, but it was too late.
Graham narrowed his eyes. “The hell was that?”
“Nothing,” I said quickly. “I just remembered something.”
“Right,” he muttered. “Something hilarious, apparently.”
I waved him off and returned to my text conversation, leaving Graham to tuck into another skewer.
Danger:You’re insufferable.
Crash:You like me anyway.
Danger:Unverified rumour.
Crash:Then verify it. Glance three times. I’ll count.
Danger:You’re such a child.
I waited a beat… then risked a side glance over my cup.
He was still looking. Still smiling. Just a little.
Crash:That’s 2.5, technically. You tilted your head. That’s your tell.
Danger:I don’t have a tell.
Crash:You do. And now I own it.
The typing dots bounced and I waited, chewing my lip.
Crash:Dangerous thing to give a man who’s already had you up against a hotel room wall.
I inhaled sharply, choking on my drink.
Graham thumped me on the back like I was eight years old. “What is wrong with you tonight?”
“Drink went down the wrong way,” I wheezed, cheeks burning. “I’m fine.”
He stared at me. Then, slowly: “You’re up to something. And I will find out.”
“Good luck with that.”
I wasn’t looking at Aleks again. I wasn’t.
