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Summary
Leon's hair is still damp when he pulls his car around out back from the Rogers Place staff parking. Anže's where he usually is, thankfully free from autograph-seekers today, hands tucked under his arms and shoulders up to his ears in just a navy suit. Looming and well-dressed and out of place on the curb under the well-lit concrete overhang on the corner, he looks like a businessman waiting for a ride to escape after-work drinks.
"It's freezing," Anže gripes as soon as he pulls open the passenger side door.
"This is warm," Leon bitches as Anže buckles up. "You're just soft from California winters."