Page 32 of Fallen Rook

Me: I can see that. Why?

Kid: Why not?

Kid: FGS just answer the question.

Me: Your hair looks fine.

Kid: Duh. It’s more than fine. It’s gorgeous. But what if it could be even MORE amazing?

Me: Do you ever stop talking?

Kid: No?

Kid: So?? New haircut?

Me: No. I like the current one.

Kid: Whatever. You wear checkered socks. Your opinion is invalid.

I didn’t answer, hoping it would make him go away. Checkered socks were perfectly acceptable paired with a suit. Unfortunately, my acute lack of interest in getting to know him did not discourage him in the least.

Kid: Have you smiled today?

Me: ??

Kid: You never smile.

Me: I smile.

Kid: I’ll make you smile.

Me: Excessive texting is against the rules. We’re hooking up on my terms, remember?

Kid: Bro, you thought my word while your hand was on my dick meant something?! I would’ve given you both my kidneys and nephews in that moment.

Kid: Open this next attachment.

I sighed and sat back in my office chair. The same office chair I’d occupied for the past seven hours. It had been an entire week since I got Enzo off. I was neck-deep in a case. Not the Camorra, but a small, albeit violent, crime family in the Bronx who’d decided to murder a child by running them over because his father wouldn’t pay his debt.

Sully sat next to me, rubbing at his temple and frowning at a picture of the victim lying on the asphalt, lifeless. It was gory to say the least, and I wasn’t getting out of here tonight. Maybe not tomorrow, either.

Despite myself, I grabbed my phone and opened the picture. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think about what we did on his parents’ golf course on an hourly basis.

It was a picture of Enzo sitting on what I guessed was his bed, stark naked, with a rose between his teeth and a cocky smile. He’d written COME EAT ME with whipped cream across his chest, but because of the mirror reflection of the phone, all the letters were backward.

A weird sensation took over me, and my mouth twitched on its own accord. “Rothwell, you having a stroke or something?” Sully grumbled from my side. I flipped the phone screen down quickly, shooting him a glare.

“Now why would you say that?”

“Your mouth did a weird thing.”

“You mean smiling?”

“You never smile.” He frowned, the pink splotches on his face reddening further. “If this is your smile, don’t do it again. You look like a coyote trying to befriend a chihuahua.”

“Fuck off.”