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Flynn found an empty barstool beside Leblanc, second from the end of the bar. “How’s it been tonight?”
“Same as ever. Your Sodia has been wiping the pool table with those two.”
Flynn turned to watch her, standing strong and confident beside the antics of the other officers. He could hear them even from the other side of the room. “I say, someone jostled my arm!”
Flynn smiled. “She’s not my Sodia.”
“She’d like to be.”
The bartender reached them before Flynn had thought of an answer. He watched Leblanc twisting the band of his watch until it snapped back against his skin as he ordered a virgin mary. Flynn signaled for the same, and for a moment they were diverted by the exchange of money and glasses.
“You could do a lot worse, you know.”
Flynn sighed and slid forward over the bar to retrieve the bottle of Tabasco sauce, upending it over his drink. “She’s a good partner.” A good partner, but not Yuri. Not the guy he’d grown up with, not the reason he was here rather than home in his too big, too clean, too quiet apartment. He dipped his celery stick, and watched it bleed juice back into the glass.
Leblanc’s hand squeezed his shoulder, heavy and real, and Flynn looked up and made himself smile again. “She is a good partner. I guess I’m just not really looking right now.”
Leblanc’s eyes tracked his face, and Flynn let the smile go. “Fair enough,” Leblanc said.
But then, Leblanc knew what it was like, to have your partner walk out on you.