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millions.”
    Thank you,
Jonesy
.
    Castille had brought along a tall, sexy gift by laundering his money through New York. Lincoln had chosen to indict here instead of New Orleans, though I was certain both places had jurisdiction.
Interesting.
New Orleans seemed the better venue. The witnesses were there. The real dirt took place there. I needed to know why the switch. Looked like I would need to pump Lincoln for more information.
My pleasure.
    Jonesy ran a finger down my jaw. Wood and Lincoln no doubt watched in the mirror behind the lower-shelf shit that we swilled almost every night.
    He dropped his voice. “He’s serious, though, Evan. Don’t fuck with him.”
    “He didn’t seem so serious to me.” I leaned away from his touch. It felt nice, but it was too intimate for my tastes. Jonesy and I weren’t a thing, would never be a thing.
    “He is. You aren’t going to be able to work him like you do me.” He drained his bottle before signaling for another.
    “I’m not working you.”
    “Evan, you’re always working. Whether it’s me or someone else or an angle. You’re always working.” He sighed before harassing the bartender. “C’mon, Mike, sometime today.”
    I didn’t like that he felt worked. I mean, he was right, of course, but still. I liked Jonesy. He was the closest thing I had to a friend. I stopped fucking him after that first time because I wanted to stay friends. He wasn’t bad in bed. He was actually pretty good.
    I remembered our misadventure fondly. Well, parts of it. Too much alcohol and a too-late night. He’d taken me back to his tiny apartment, about the size of my walk-in closet. We’d stumbled in and fallen into his bed. He’d been gentle, undressing me as if I were a gift to be unwrapped and savored. I ripped through his clothes like a spoiled brat on Christmas morning, pissed off that she hadn’t gotten a pony. I’d dropped to my knees and taken his gorgeous uncut dick in my mouth, tasting him for the first time.
    He’d run his hands through my hair and said my name reverently before pulling me up to his lips. He’d kissed me. Really kissed me, as if he were searching for the me who lived deep inside. The woman he was looking for wasn’t there. Hadn’t been for years.
    And then he’d laid me down and made love to me. He started slow and maintained his control. He locked eyes with mine, pinning me beneath him and silently telling me things that I’d wished he wouldn’t. I didn’t want to make love. I wanted to fuck. When I’d flipped him over and taken what I wanted, his eyes were bright and full of desire, but there was also a twinge of sadness. Like he’d planned something different, something more real. I didn’t want real. I wanted an escape, a fantasy of no strings attached and no hurt feelings.
    Jonesy was what I should have wanted. But for me, it was too sweet. Too tender. I didn’t want tender. I didn’t want him looking at me with googoo eyes while I rode him. So I made sure it never happened again. But if a too-sweet fuck was what was necessary to get good intel, I was up for it, and the rod in his pants told me he was, too.
    I put my hand on his back and leaned into him. “Can I make it up to you?”
    He tilted his jaw to the side and wetted his lips with his tongue. “Still working me, Evan?”
    “I will if you want me to.” I let my breath tickle his ear.
    He stilled and tensed under my hand. But then he shook his head, as if clearing cobwebs from his mind. “Those are your two settings, Evan. Fight or fuck.”
    The frustration in his words stung me. I was offering something I knew he wanted. What was the problem?
    “You know what, Mike? Forget it. I’m headed out. I’ll pay my tab tomorrow night.” He rose from the bar, the warmth from his body no longer against me. Goosebumps spread along my legs as he left in a hurry. He punched through the door and disappeared into the street.
    “The fuck you do?” Wood growled.
    I shrugged.
    Wood