He scowled. “What the fuck? I know you, Charlie. I know you. You’re going to take a drag, then start coughing so much you’re almost puking, and you’ll run inside to the bathroom. Either way, you get out of this conversation, and I know that’s the real goal for you.” He pointed his cigarette at me before taking it to his mouth. “No smokes for you, and stop bullshitting me. Just tell me what I want to know, and we can be done with it.” His eyes flicked upward. “And you know I’m sorry for being a dumbass earlier. I get you not wanting to talk about you-know-who, but just reassure this old bastard who used to be your best friend that you are talking to someone about him?”

I was quiet.

He sighed. “Charlie.”

“I’ve mentioned the situation to Reese.”

“Forster?” he scoffed.

“Yes. Him.”

He was quiet again. “Shit. I’m trying not to be best-friend jealous here. Him? Really?”

I shrugged, my stomach settling back down. “To be honest, I didn’t say much. Just that I’m going through something stupidly tragic.”

Another beat. “It’s not stupid. It’s just tragic, plain and simple.”

Oh whoa. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t talk. I blinked back sudden tears. They’d come out of nowhere. I stuck out a blind hand for his cigarette.

He chuckled, swatting it back down. “Here. Drink this instead.” He pushed his beer into my hand, and I guzzled it.

He sat back, and the air felt lighter somehow. He finished his cigarette. “I saw Superstar’s interview. He flicked his ear.” His shoulder nudged mine.

I’d beamed when Reese did that, and I knew Grant had noticed, though no one else did. Reese made the gesture so subtle, it looked like he was flicking off some sweat or an itch. But I saw it.

“That was for you, wasn’t it? You used to do little signals all the time when we were young.”

I laughed, the beer helping with my throat. “That’s right. The good old…” I scratched my nose with my middle finger.

He laughed too. “Yeah, and this one.” He made a circle with his thumb and finger, moving another finger through the hole.

“That’s not that discreet.”

“It is when you did it behind Keith’s back.”

I groaned. “He’s such a dickhead.”

“He is a dickhead, yes.”

“How can you work there?” Scratch that. “How can you still work for him?”

He lifted a shoulder. “Patience. There’s a plan in the works.”

“Good. I support that wholeheartedly as long as it involves him getting fired in the end.”

“You know…”

Oh no. He was back to his serious voice. I shook my head, standing up. “No. No more real talk. I’ve handled what I can for the night.”