ME:Went to bed. Wasn't feeling it.
The dots blink for a split second.
REED: Something happen?
My jaw clenches. They know me too well. Two decades of friendship mean they can read between the lines of even my most carefully crafted deflections.
COLE:Just tired. Long week.
JACE: Bollocks.
REED: Complete bollocks.
JACE:You don't do “just tired.” You do “I'll sleep when I'm dead” and “fatigue is for the weak.”
REED: Spill, Adams.
I run a hand through my hair, staring at the screen. What can I say that won't invite more questions? Questions I'm not ready to answer because I don't know the answers myself.
COLE: Nothing to spill.
JACE:Now I KNOW something happened.
REED:Same. Mr. “I Don't Do Personal Conversations” is being EXTRA tight-lipped. Rookie error, mate.
JACE:You didn’t meet someone, did you?
My heart rate kicks up. I glance at the office door like they might somehow materialise there, able to see straight through me.
COLE: No. Absolutely not.
REED:That was too fast.
JACE:Way too fast. And defensive.
REED:Oh shit. You MET someone.
JACE:NICOLAS ADAMS MET SOMEONE. Are you feeling well, mate?
REED:Someone call a doctor…oh wait
JACE:Who is she? What's she like? Is she as boring and colour-coded as your calendar?
REED:Does she know about your psychotic need to alphabetise things?
JACE:Does she also enjoy long walks through spreadsheets and romantic evenings with tax documents?
COLE:You two are so fucking juvenile.
JACE:You didn't deny it.
REED:He DIDN'T deny it.
JACE:This is monumental. Earth-shattering. Someone alert the press—oh wait, they're busy making up lies about me.
REED:Seriously though, mate. Good for you.
JACE:Yeah. About fucking time.
