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I peek at him, well aware that my shoulders sag in relief to see Cody striding in, Brogan by his side on a leash.
The blood on his uniform has me biting my lip, though. “None of that’s yours, right?”
He shakes his head, but his gaze is soft as it settles on me.
I release a deep sigh then answer, “I’m handing Dion his ass because he’s a douche canoe who can’t hold his lunch.”
“Not sure that’s how the law works,” Cody retorts.
“You name a time, dude,” I aim at my one-time ex.
“I heard that,” Cody grumbles.
“You can watch me hand him his ass,” I counter, keeping my voice as low as his.
“That shouldn’t be a turn-on, but it is.”
“It’s my mystique. Consider yourself a fly and me shit.”
He pulls a face. “Nice. Can’t I be a bee and you’re my honey?”
“Mine’s more poetic.”
His eyes bug. “Right.” To Dion, who’s trying to listen into our conversation, he shoots, “Put Brogan in my office?”
“Sure thing, boss.”
Brogan isn’t happy until Cody passes Dion a sandwich alongside the dog’s leash. “He’ll accept the reward and hopefully will nap.”
Once Brogan’s more interested in what looks like Mrs. Abelman’s corned beef, Cody places a hand on my shoulder and steers me down the outer corridor.
“Where are we going?”
“Somewhere private.”
I whistle. “You have time for a?—”
“No, Tee, I don’t,” he says dryly. “But I’m trying to remember that you don’t want us going public yet until I’ve proven that I’m not a jackass like, I’ll assume, Dion?”
My nose wrinkles. “Dude didn’t want to tell his friends about me then went caterwauling to them when I dumped him and left for New York. Suddenly, I’m a slut. His mom’s related to Harry—bakery Harry? I swear he spits on my butter tarts when I buy them. There are always a few bubbles extra on top.”
“There’s too much to unpack in that statement.” He proves he’s my ideal man by sighing and picking it apart. “So, firstly, I’m not Dion. Although, this probably explains why you have trust issues. Secondly, note to self—I’ll buy the butter tarts on our behalf. Thirdly, that breaks so many health and safety regulations—are you certain Harry gives enough of a shit to get into trouble with the health department?”
“Proof. Got it.” I wag a finger at him. “I’ll buy a butter tart so you can see the bubbles for yourself.”
“Why did he blame you?”
“Because he has small penis syndrome. The only reason that isn’t in the DSM?* is because we live in a patriarchy.”
“Small—” He huffs. “I didn’t need to know that about one of my men.”
“Don’t you shower together?”
“Do you think this is Marshals Do Munch?”
I burst out laughing. “I’d watch it.”
“Knowing you, you probably would.”