Page 27 of The Black Table
“What?” Lanz cries.
“It’s not explicitlydisallowed in the code of conduct,” Callahan rumbles.
I grin. “My man,” I cry, and rub my hands together. “Come on. We’re burning daylight. The night is young, and the girls are only getting drunker?—”
But neither of them is looking at me anymore. Staring right past me to the door.
I don’t need to look to know who’s there.
“Friday plans?”
I square my shoulders, tense and untense my arms, and slowly turn my gaze to him.
Kingston. He’s the closest to casual he gets, wearing a navy T-shirt and dark gray joggers and his usual judgmental expression. Arms folded, but at attention.
Prick. I have half a mind to rip my saber up from the floor and?—
“There’s a cap tonight,” Lanz answers for me.Thanks for that, Judas Iscariot Dell’Acqua,I think.You under some kind of truth-telling spell? Jesus.
“And you’re going?” Kingston asks. Not Lanz. Me.
I suck in a breath and call on my last shred of self-restraint. “If it please the court,” I say mildly. The adrenaline’s already streaming into my veins, the need to be moving,goingsomewhere. And heaven have mercy on whoever stands in my way.
Especially if it’s Kingston.
He wrinkles his brow. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Of course you don’t,” I mutter. Then, louder, as cheerful and casual as I can. “Good thing it’s not up for referendum, then.”
Kingston’s jaw twitches.
Hit him where it hurts, it seems.
“It’s a free country,” Lanz observes, to no one in particular.
“Not in here,” Kingston barks. “This isn’t a democracy.” He shoots a look at me. “Weekends are for practice or rest.”
“I practiced,” I say. “Just now. Smell my fuckin’ lamé if you don’t believe me.” I grab my leather jacket from its peg, shrug into it. “I’m good.”
“You skipped yesterday.”
Seriously? “I had to proctor a placement exam,” I point out.
“At one p.m.” Kingston’s eyes rise meaningfully to the clock. “What about the other twenty-one hours of the day?”
“JesusChrist,” I mutter. “Your micromanaging bullshit isexhausting, you know that? Shit, I need a rest fromthat.” I take a pronounced step forward. “Now,ifyou’ll excuse me.”
But he doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t. Kingston steps directly into my way.
I clench my jaw hard enough to crack a tooth, tighten every fiber of my body.
We’re really doing this? Picking me to pieces just for the hell of it?
Or no, not just for the hell of it,I realize.
Because one of usdidn’tlose on Wednesday.
Me.
