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Summary
“That’s why you have me, love,” he purrs. “To make sure you relax. Mind magnet, love.” In the strictest sense of the trigger, he doesn’t need to snap his fingers, but he does anyway. That’s what David’s used to. They’ve found, by a lot of trial and error, that he responds best if as many cues are consistent as possible.
He knows it’s working when David grabs his right wrist with his left hand. “That’s what you were up to,” he hisses. “Get me out in public and drop me.”
“I’m not going to drop you.” Hartley takes a sip from his club soda, all exaggerated, wide-eyed innocence. “You’re going to drop yourself for me, in front of all these people.”