“You already do that,” he says. “Once a week, you spend the day at the Mission down in the Third District. Everyone who knows you knows that. That’s not an image makeover.”

“Well, it’s better than pictures of me in the clubs, right?”

“There will be no more pictures of you in clubs because you won’t be going to any. You’re going to find yourself a homebody all of a sudden who prefers to go to charity galas and barbecue in the backyard with friends rather than live it up on the town.”

My jaw clenches but I control the urge to tell him he’s fucking crazy.

You did this to yourself, Giz.

“Fine. Sure. Why don’t you take my balls while we’re taking away my manhood?”

“And you said I was being dramatic. Jesus, Jase—”

“I’ll post about my trips to the homeless shelter. Make my time spent there more known.” The thought makes my stomach pitch—using someone else’s demise to make yourself look better—but I can’t fuck the band over.

“That’s not going to cut it. It’s not enough.”

“Then what will, Nate the Great?”

He glares at me. He has always hated that nickname. “You’re going to get married.”

It’s my turn to glare at the dropped bomb. I chuckle. “That’s fucking hilarious.”

“I don’t seem to be laughing.”

“That’s crazy talk.”

“In a town full of crazy talk and where nothing is as it seems—according to you and your opportunist photos—it’s not so crazy.”

“And you’re telling me you think everyone’s going to buy this shit—that me, Jase Gizmodo—serial dater—”

“The word ‘dater’ is a bit generous, don’t you think?”

“Serial fuckboy?” I lift my brows as sarcasm drips from my words.

“Much better.”

“Of course it is. Anything for you to put down what I do in my life that you’d kill to be able to do in yours.” The animosity stretches between us in a stare full of clenched jaws and unspoken words.

Nathaniel’s Adam’s apple bobs. “Judge Watkins is as conservative as conservative can be. He’s big on family values, not so big on tattoos, and no doubt listens to classical music because even Christian rock is too scandalous for him.”

“No doubt he’s a hypocrite with a mistress on the side and has a secret fetish.”

“And if he did, that wouldn’t matter to your case,” he says.

“Then find a reason, a conflict of interest, over why he can’t make a ruling in this matter.”

“That’s not how it works. This is a probation request. He has no personal stake in this case that would be grounds for me to ask that.”

“Then does he have a daughter or a niece or something I could date? That would cause enough of a conflict.”

“You’re grasping at straws, Jase.”

“Then give me another option here,” I all but beg, “because you’re making it sound like straws are all I have to hold on to.”

“I gave you the option.”