“You can’t—”
“Try me.” There was a pause. “Please? You need a break, and I need my best friend to remember he’s human.”
I looked at the files on my desk, glanced at the clock, then looked at my reflection in my computer screen. Even through the pixels, a pale, exhausted face stared back. My eyes held the kind of tiredness that even sleep couldn’t fix.
One hour wouldn’t kill me.
Probably.
“Fine. I’ll be there at twelve-thirty.”
“Thank God. See you soon.” He hung up before I could change my mind.
Diego was still on a treadmill when I arrived, running at a pace that suggested he’d been there for a while. He grinned when he saw me and slowed to a walk.
“You came. I’m shocked.”
“You threatened to come get me.”
“Empty threat. I was never getting off this treadmill.” He wiped sweat from his face with a towel. “How’s the caseload?”
“Insane, but can we please not talk about work?”
“Good idea.” Diego punched a button and stepped off the treadmill. “How are you?”
“I’m fine.”
“Dude, you’re working every Saturday and Sunday. That’s not fine.”
“It’s family law. Everyone works weekends.”
“Not everyone.” Diego headed toward the weight racks. “Have you texted your bartender?”
I felt my face heat. “His name is Finn.”
“I know his name. Have you texted him?”
“Maybe.”
A paternal warning tone entered his voice as he dragged out my name. “Chase.”
“Fine. Yes. We’ve been texting.”
“And?”
“And what?”
“And are you going to go on a date with him or just pine from a distance like a Victorian maiden?”
“I don’t pine—”
“Youabsolutelypine. The evidence is overwhelming.” Diego grabbed weights. “When’s your next day off?”
“Day off? I don’t know. Whenever the caseload lightens up.”
“So, never.”
“Diego—”
