“Leo.”
“You’re being unusually evasive,” he accuses.
“Or maybe,” I suggest, “I’m just fucking busy.”
“Busy,” Leonid echoes, skepticism a shadow for every syllable. “Right. Because you’re usually so good at being cooped up? Yes, you, the guy who likes to disappear on three-day benders and come back with stories that’d make Dionysus envious.”
A smug grin sprawls despite myself. “That was one time.”
“Five times, motherfucker,” he crows. “Seriously, though—what’s up? I get it, you’re trying to be good, but isn’t this overkill? No clubbing, no women, not even a game of good ol’ poker. It’s not like you.”
“Leo, I’m telling you—”
“Surveillance. Sure. I got it. But you’ve never let this shit get in your way before. You remember the Alanis bust? You blew that op wide open and were fucking Ivankaandher cousin the—”
“This is different.” I cut him off before he could rehash that particular story. I’d learned the hard way not to fuck women from the same family. At least not more than once. I fuck no one more than once.
“Or,” Leonid counters, unstoppable, “something else is up.”
You have no idea, man.
My lack of an answer is apparently enough.
“Holy shit,” he curses softly. “Youarefucking someone.”
I groan, burying my face in my hand. “Trust me, man. My balls are way too blue for you to be making allegations like that.”
“But you have your eye on someone,” he guesses, switching gears seamlessly.
“Leo—”
“I fucking knew it. You’ve got your eye on someone. Thank fuck. Who the fuck’s managed to get you in knots?” It helps nothing that he is cackling at my expense now.
Swiping my hand over my face, I huff out a sigh. “It’s complicated.”
“Complicated how?” he demands. “You’ve never had trouble getting a girl before. No idea why, but—”
“Fuck off, it’s not that.”
“What is it then? Because I know that you haven’t gotten laid in months,bratan. What’s the holdup? Why aren’t you sealing the deal? What, you need a wingma—”
My fingers catch on the silver ring in my ear, tugging at it. “When have I ever needed a fucking wingman, Leo?”
“So, what—”
Movement in my peripheral vision hijacks my attention. Instinctively, I end the call right there.
The phone hits the desk with a clatter.
Janella is standing in the doorway. I never even heard her open the door. But if the appalled look on her face is any indication, she heard plenty.
“Janella—” I start, but she’s already whipped around and taken off.
I vaguely register the phone starting to buzz, furious and insistent. I’m already out of my chair and down the hall.
She’s faster than she looks.
“Janella,” I roar after her.
