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“I didn't want to.”

“Still counts.”

“No, it fucking doesn't.”

I look at Beck.

He grins.

Roman points at him. “Don't.”

“I haven't said anything.”

“You're about to.”

I lean forward. “All I know is that it involves a woman.”

Roman's head slowly turns toward Beck.

Beck suddenly finds something interesting across the room.

“You told me that,” I remind him.

“It was one detail.”

“It was the wrong fucking detail,” Roman growls.

Oh my God.

I sit up straighter. “Why was it the wrong detail?”

“Because now you've turned it into something it wasn't.”

“I haven't turned it into anything.”

Roman gives me a look.

Okay. I've absolutely turned it into something.

Ever since Beck told me the nickname involved a woman, I've imagined approximately fourteen different scenarios. None of them involve clothing.

“Was she hot?”

“Callie.”

“It's relevant.”

“It really isn't,” Beck says.

Roman's eyes narrow.

Beck's grin returns. “She was attractive.”

“Beckett.”

“What? She was.”

I look between them. “Where were you?”