Chapter 5: Rule One

Geoffrey's car was a grey sedan with leather seats, and it smelled like coffee and cedar.

He drove with both hands on the wheel and his eyes on the road.

I watched his hands.

His knuckles were pale, and they had been pale since the bar.

It's cold in here, I told myself, and I knew it wasn't.

"Did you see his face?" I said.

"Which one?"

"Brandon's. When you looked at his hand."

"I saw it."

"I think he believes us."

"I think he believes something," Geoffrey said.

The streetlights slid over his jaw and away again.

"You didn't have to touch my back that long."

"You said one night, one bar, a table in the middle," he said. "I'm a careful reader of terms."

"The coat, too?"

"The coat was a courtesy."

"Your thumb was a courtesy?"

He didn't answer, and the muscle in his jaw flexed once and stopped.

I looked out the window and grinned at my own reflection.

He pulled up outside my building and put the car in park.

The engine ticked.

Neither of us said goodnight.

"Thank you," I said. "Seriously. That was above and beyond."

"It was Saturday and a drink. It wasn't above anything."

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