Page 28 of Sins of Leo

“You’d better not be thinking of having a drink because your tower is forcing us to be roommates.”

He glanced at her over his shoulder. “Surprisingly enough, I don’t want one.”

“Ha, says the man standing in front of the bar.”

“Out of habit. For the past few years, that’s been my routine. Do my job. Come home. Drink until I pass out. Nurse my hangover and repeat.”

“Time for you to find a new way to unwind. Exercise can be helpful.”

“I just climbed nine flights of stairs.”

“And didn’t break a sweat or start breathing hard,” she pointed out. “To release dopamine naturally, you need to exert yourself. Hit that bag. Get a stationary bike. Lift some weights.”

“I already do all those things. We have a gym on the fifth.”

“Then take up a hobby.”

“You going to tell me to garden?” he mocked.

“It should be something that interests you.”

“What’s your hobby?”

“Cooking. I find the art of making good food relaxing, and the leftovers are a comfort when I’ve had a trying day.” She saw no kitchen in his apartment, meaning she wouldn’t have that as a crutch to lean on while staying with Leo.

“I like to eat.”

“You have to eat,” she pointed out. “A hobby should be something fun. Like painting.”

“The only thing I paint is walls, floors, and ceilings with the blood of my enemies.” He crossed his arms. Was he trying to intimidate her? His way perhaps of handling her intrusion on his space?

“Lawn bowling?” she suggested.

“Pussy sport,” he scoffed.

“While I don’t usually recommend it, because of their addictive nature, perhaps you might find ease playing video games.”

“That’s Scorpio’s thing. Never did like them much.”

“Reading.”

“Too many words.”

She huffed. “Surely there’s something you enjoy.”

“I’m enjoying annoying you.” His lips curved.

“I’m not,” she growled. She didn’t understand her reaction. She’d dealt with difficult patients before, yet something about Leo set her off. Blame everything that happened thus far. Too much change, too quick.

“Sorry, Buttercup. I shouldn’t be taking my grumpiness out on you.”

“Don’t call me Buttercup! My name is Ruth.”

“Ruth is the old lady who used to make breakfast at the coffee shop down the street when I lived in the city.”

“It’s my name.”

“Buttercup suits you better.”

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