Page 118 of Game Misconduct
I don’t know what to say to that.
But when the knock comes at the door, I swear I’ve never been more grateful for a damn steak in my life.
“Food’s here,” I say, setting my wine down and moving to grab it.
Sloane zips the portfolio back up and sets it aside before following me, hovering just behind as I take the bag from the delivery guy, tip already handled.
The scent of seared steak, garlic, and truffle hits the air, and she groans.
“God, is that the filet?”
“With the black pepper crust,” I say, holding the bag up like a trophy.
She grins and gestures toward the kitchen. “Let’s eat before I commit a felony.”
We set up at the island, plates stacked, silverware already laid out. I hand her the takeout box with her name scribbled across the top in red sharpie.
Charred always labels with care, which is the kind of detail I didn’t care about before.
Now I do.
Because she notices that kind of thing.
“I love this place,” she says, opening the lid and sighing in appreciation at the perfectly cooked filet and roasted asparagus. “Have you had a chance to experience it yet?”
“Not yet. But I’ve been looking for a replacement steakhouse since I left Boston.”
“Is this a test run?”
I give her a look. “If they fuck up the mac and cheese, I’m filing a formal grievance.”
Sloane chuckles and takes a sip of wine. “I’m skipped lunch, so I’m starving.”
“Then dig in.”
There’s a comfortable silence between us and being the fuck up I am sometimes, I’m about to break it.
But now feels like the time to tell her about Boston.
The whole truth.
Not what the Freeze’s spin doctors came up with.
I set my fork down and swallow hard before speaking. “You said once that I was a risk.”
She looks up, fork paused halfway to her mouth.
“You were right,” I add. “But not for the reason you think.”
She sets her fork down. “Tell me.”
I lean back on the stool and run a hand over my jaw. It’s hard to start.
Harder to find words that don’t come out like excuses.
“There was this rookie. Young. First year pro. Barely spoke up in the locker room, but he was fast. Smart and different.”
Sloane watches me, her expression still. Open, but not pushing.
