Page 23 of Giovanni the Savage

“Hey, man!” he exclaims with a smile and a paper tray in his hand.

I look longingly at the two cups of coffee straddled there. Eric is always here for a good laugh, and frankly, I’m too tired to engage in his playful conversations, but I need a break from work, and he has brought an offering.

“How are you doing?” I ask while he sets the cups on my table and slumps into one of the chairs in front of my desk.

“Good as new.” He smirks.

I sip the coffee and can instantly feel the liquid kicking in.

“What?” I ask, raising a brow when I notice he’s watching me like a hawk.

“Can’t say the same for you,” he mutters, shifting his chair closer.

“What do you mean?”

I’m acting like I’m clueless. Of course, I know what he means, but I just want to hear what he thinks he knows. Eric always has a theory for everything.

“You don’t look as good as you always do,” he comments.

“Gee, thanks.”

Sarcasm colors my tone, and he backtracks.

“I didn’t mean it that way, but you know what I mean, man.”

“What do you mean?”

“You have eyebags that make you look like you haven’t slept in days, your tie is askew, which means you’re stressed, and you’re not cussing me out as usual, and that can only mean one thing; you’re not in the mood to see me or talk.”

His theories.

For the first time, they’re all right except for the first slight exaggeration, but I decide to shut him down.

“I’m fine,” I add on a lighter note. “I didn’t think you enjoyed me cussing you out. That’s a weird thing to like.”

He frowns at my smirk, but I know I haven’t fooled him.

“For real, man, what’s up?”

I shake my head and set the cup down.

“I wasn’t expecting you, Eric.”

He shrugs. “I was in the area, so I came to check on you.”

He scratches his neck, my cue that he’s uneasy. He’s obviously telling a white lie. I stare at him long enough for him to know I’m calling out his bluff.

“Alright, fine.” He raises his hands. “Word on the street is that Joe beat you for the first time in ten years. And that’s when I knew something was wrong, so I came to check on you. Which means it isn’t entirely a lie.”

Fucking Joe.

Of course, he’d leave out the part that it was only by three fucking seconds. He’s probably told people I couldn’t even find my way back because of how far I was. The mob is like a community; word spreads faster than a virus, and Joe is a blabbermouth. I’m not shocked.

“A stroke of luck,” I throw in casually.

“Doesn’t sound like that to me.” He’s grinning like a Cheshire cat, and my face is still stoic when I stare back at him.

“Is that why you came?” I ask.

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