“What about you?” “What about me?” Locke crushed his smoke in an ashtray and pushed off the wall, narrowing the distance between us in two strides of his long legs, the Gemini tat on his neck reeling me in. The other dark ink that crept above his collar. The sheer height of him as he towered over me, backing me against Orla’s door, making use of the extra inches I was pretty sure he had everywhere.
