Lawson lifts his head, tipping his chin to indicate Nigel, who’s busy measuring out three servings of soup. “And just so we’re clear, you ever say the word and I’ll take him out. No questions asked.” “I can hear you,” Nigel mutters. “Good. I expect you to treat Cor like the beautiful, smart, hockey god that he is.” “Have you been drinking?” I ask, while Nigel snorts with laughter. Lawson pats my arm before letting go.
