Maybe he did.
Maybe—
“How often do you work out?”
Benito’s voice startled Mickey. He blinked. “Hmm?”
“How much do you work out?” Benito leaned forward. “I’m a lone wolf in the gym, but I liked working out with you. It was fun.”
“Fun?”
“Yeah. I’m not much of a talker, but I guess I like company more than I realise sometimes.”
“I’m shit company,” Mickey said flatly.
“Not always.”
“Just today?”
“Your words, mate. Don’t make them fact.”
Mickey sat back in his seat, then regretted it as the shift took him further away from Benito. “What do you think of me?”
“Right now? Or in general?”
“Both.”
Benito narrowed his eyes, just a touch, and retrieved Mickey’s plate from the other side of the table. “Unless there’s a medical reason you’re not eating, I’ll talk if you eat your breakfast.”
“What do you care if I eat my breakfast or not?”
“We went hard with the weights, and I don’t see a protein shake in your hand, so you need to replenish if you’re not going to fucking hurt yourself.”
It still begged the question why Mickey’s wellbeing was Benito’s concern, but his rough glare was hard to ignore. And Mickey wascurious. Benito didn’t give much away, which left too much scope for Mickey’s wild imagination. Hard facts were too precious to give up.
He picked up his fork and pointed it across the table. “Speak.”
“Eat.”
Mickey ate.
Benito watched him a moment, then leaned back in his seat, putting a respectable distance between them again. “I think you’re nice.”
Mickey snorted.
Benito spoke again before he could. “I wasn’t finished.”
“Go on.”
“Okay... I think you’re a nice guy, but you’re nowhere near as respectable as my sister seems to think you are. And not because you like to get rough when the lights go out. It’s more than that, and... I think it’s something we have in common that you’re trying to forget about.”
“As in?”
“As in, you’re from the same kind of ends as me. Different city, but the same fucking streets.”
Mickey swallowed and slowly wiped his mouth. “What the fuck makes you think that?”
Benito shrugged. “You walk and talk like me, and when you stare like you are right now, I know you see straight through me. Why is that, Mickey? Are you a fed? Or are you a fucking road man?”