Dustin watched him struggle, enjoying it more than he should, enjoying the images his mind was painting him—of how easy it would be to unravel this beautifully honest creature.
To wreck him.
All he needed was a flat surface and a locked door—and the latter was optional.
“I—” Greg started.
“Yes?”
“That's—you're?—”
“Use your words, sunshine.”
“I don'thavewords for this.” Greg's voice came out slightly strangled. “This isn't—I wasn't trained for—you're myassignment.”
“Is that a no?”
Greg didn't answer.
That was interesting.
That wasveryinteresting.
“Relax,” Dustin said, letting him off the hook. For now. “I'm just messing with you.”
Greg exhaled. His shoulders dropped. “Oh. Right. Of course.”
Was that disappointment?
Dustin filed that away for later.
When the check came, Dustin paid.
Greg watched the transaction with obvious fascination, eyes tracking the way Dustin pulled out his card, the way Samantha ran it through a machine, the way numbers moved from one place to another without any physical money changing hands.
“That's like magic,” Greg observed.
“It's also how they track everything you buy, but sure. Magic.”
“Who tracks it?”
“Banks. Credit card companies. The government, probably.” Dustin shrugged. “Anyone who wants to know what you're up to.”
Greg considered this. “I guess the movements of currency should be tracked by someone, but maybe not everyone.”
“No, probably not.”
Samantha brought the receipt. Dustin signed it, left a tip, and slid out of the booth.
Greg followed, clipboard tucked under his arm.
Outside, the night air was cool and the parking lot was mostly empty. Dustin stopped by his truck.
“So,” he said.
“So,” Greg echoed.
“I guess I'll see you at the hospital tomorrow.”
