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“One more,” he said slowly. “But you won’t ask me for a third.”

He snapped his fingers around Lex’s wrist. Held him there, firm in warning even as Lex tried to twist out of his grip.

“Are we clear?”

“Crystal.”

But Morgan saw it—the subtle twitch, the telltale raise of Lex’s eyebrows as irritation slipped into calculation. That pretty, tan face never stayed still for long.

“You want another bet?”

Morgan let go. “After you lost the last so gracefully?” He finished the wine and poured another glass. “How can I say no?”

Leaning over, Lex nudged away the plate and folded his arms over the table. “We go to the bar tonight , with someone from the restaurant. Someone you pick.”

“Where’s the bet?”

“You do it, you win,” Lex snorted. “Honestly, haven’t thought of a prize for you yet, but if you can’t find someone here— right fucking now, Morgan—then I win. And I get to be in control. All night.”

“That’s a very polite way of asking to fuck me.”

“I’m including what happens to our cat.”

Morgan ran his finger over the edge of the wine glass, rolling the idea over in his head. He had to admit, it sounded amusing.

After a minute, he shrugged.

“Alright. If I win,” he met Lex halfway across the table, lowering his voice, “then I get to make you cry. In any way I deem necessary.”

“Been there, done that, Morgan,” Lex whispered back, his throat bobbing as he swallowed.

That bravado never lasted all too long, either.

“No, my sweet. We have not.”

Watching those blue eyes bounce around in Lex’s skull—part excitement, part horror—was a prize in and of itself. Better than wine. Better than the meal.

“Are you backing out now? Did it become too real for you?” Morgan asked, when the quiet stretched too thin and heavy.

Lex shook his head, finally straightening. “It’s a deal. ”

“Are you sure?” Morgan smirked. “I’ll give you one last chance. I have years of experience.”

“In bumfuck Ohio .”

“People are still people. We breathe. We bleed. We desire. That doesn’t suddenly change when you cross time zones.”

Picking up the water glass, Lex held it out in a mock toast. “Good luck is all I’m saying.”

The one thing Morgan didn’t need was luck.

Perhaps, in the beginning, he had leaned on it—those early days, full of messy, hesitant kills and shaking hands. Back when his nighttime activities felt like a waking dream. Before he learned to study expressions like language, noted every flicker of fear or want or uncertainty.

But now, it was second nature.

Luck was for amateurs.

The restaurant wasn’t quiet. That helped.

Quiet meant more eyes. Potential boredom from people on bad dates, or business meetings gone dry. It meant someone—whoever they were, whatever the case may be—was going to see something.

Their server came around, dessert and coffees in hand.

Young, flustered. Trying desperately to be professional .

First day jitters?

It wasn’t something Morgan noticed at first—unimportant, filed away at the back of his mind—but maybe it would do in a pinch.

“Connor,” Morgan said, eyeing the name tag fastened to the front of the button-up. “We were thinking of going somewhere after. Do you have any recommendations for the area?”

The verbal response wasn’t important.

No.

What Morgan needed was a physical response. A small swallow, a shift in the eyes. Something that read at least vaguely interested.

And their server had none of those.

In fact…

Morgan may have misread first day jitters in its entirety.

Connor was more interested in getting out of here—glancing over his shoulder, up at the clock by their table—than answering Morgan’s question.

Easy enough. One less person to cross off his list.

Lex’s foot hit his under the table.

“You can throw in the towel any time ,” Lex mumbled around a forkful of chocolate cake. “I’ll just laugh.”

Morgan sighed. “You are so very skilled at so many things. Do you understand that? The potential is overwhelming, but you lack patience.”

“You sound like my damn high school teachers.”

“Well, they were right.”

Morgan picked up the coffee and took a sip .

All around them: chatter, laughter, bodies in motion. The bar was crowded, crammed with couples leaning in close and coworkers laughing too loud.

And then there was one. Alone.

If Lex hadn’t perfected the I’m bored, entertain me look, Morgan would’ve awarded the title to the young doorman.

Leaning against the frame. One hand on the handle.

The other gripping his phone so tightly his knuckles had gone white.

His gaze was unfocused, face slack in a way that spoke more than any conversation.

Morgan’s instincts pricked—the familiar hum low in his skull. The voice that whispered when it mattered. The one that rarely lied.

He’d only been wrong four times.

He remembered each one.

Tossing the keys to Lex, he stood and grabbed his jacket off the back of the chair.

“Go to the car. I’ll meet you there.”

Lex’s mouth twisted in a practiced pout. “What about the bill?”

“You picked the most expensive restaurant, not me, Lex. You get to pay.”

Lex groaned—dramatic and theatrical—and Morgan couldn’t help but smile.

Actions had consequences. This one came with a receipt.

Morgan adjusted his cuffs as he stepped outside, the breeze of London evening air carrying leftover diesel and rain.

As much as he loved his corner of the States, he could get used to it here.

It wasn’t Mayfair. It wasn’t the sterile corridor near their hotel. It wasn’t close to the office or the circles Lex wanted to keep.

No. This part was different. Tactile in its own way. Gritty. Less polished. Alive outside of the restaurant doors.

Enough to give him that delightful hit of endorphins. The kind that always told him he was right there .

“It’s been a day,” Morgan said after a moment.

“You’re telling me…” The doorman could’ve been talking to Morgan, or himself. But he barely acknowledged either. Still clutching the phone as if it might save his life.

“Long shift?”

“Been longer.”

Morgan nodded like he understood. “You wouldn’t mind if we had a quick chat while I wait for my car, would you?”

That landed.

The doorman dragged his gaze up, phone screen dimming, white-blue glow fading from his features. For a second, he just stared. Blank. Suspicious. But behind it—there it was. A crack. Thin, but present .

“If you’re moaning about service, all I do is hold—”

“It’s nothing like that—I promise,” Morgan cut in before the excuses could ruin the pacing.

His voice softened to just the right level of performed exhaustion.

“I’ve been in business meetings all day and I was looking for someone to tell me what to do around here for fun.

I need a reset. If you’re off soon, maybe you could show me instead. ”

He watched it happen. That slow tilt from hesitation to reluctant interest.

People were predictable. Eventually, when pressed by boredom and the ache of going unseen, every last one wanted to matter to someone. Even if only for a single evening.

And this one—tired and no doubt underpaid—was no different. His shoulders slumped. The grip on his phone eased. He nodded.

Morgan smiled, grabbing his phone from his pocket.

Bring the car around. Play along. I’m very excited for my prize.