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“Nothing.”

“You just grabbed my wrist.”

“You were touching me.”

“I touch you all the time.”

“I know.”

Her eyes narrow.

I release her.

She continues staring at me. “What are you hiding?”

“Nothing.”

“Roman.”

“Chaos.”

She gasps. “Oh my God.”

“What?”

“You're acting weird.”

“I'm not acting weird.”

“You are.”

“This is how I always act.”

“No. You're being Roman weird.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“Quiet. Broody. Murdery.”

“That's just my face.”

Her eyes drop toward my pocket.

I shift slightly. Wrong move.

Her gaze snaps back to mine. “What’s in your pocket?”

“Nothing.”

“There's something in your pocket.”

“It's a pocket. That's generally where people put things.”

She reaches for it again. I catch her hand.

Her mouth falls open. “Roman McConnell.”

“Callie Quinn.”