"What do I want to eat?"

Jason echoed the question absentmindedly, pressing his phone against his shoulder as he focused on the man beneath his boot. The goon squirmed, groaning in pain as Jason shifted his weight slightly, pinning him down with ease.

Honestly, this whole situation was annoying. He had been right in the middle of getting the intel he needed when his phone rang. Out of habit, he answered—because it was you.

But now you were asking about dinner, and Jason could barely concentrate on the conversation with the guy beneath him groaning like he was on death’s doorstep.

"Babe, I really don’t have the head for that right now," Jason sighed, tilting his head back as he ran a hand down his face. "I’m kinda in the middle of something here."

The goon let out another pained noise, and Jason instinctively pressed down harder, making the guy cough out something that sounded vaguely like a plea. Jason rolled his eyes.

"What do I want to eat…" he muttered again, glancing down at the whimpering guy at his feet. "I dunno, sweetheart. Something greasy. Burgers? Fries? Not whatever this idiot has been eating—smells like he lives off cheap beer and regret."

The goon mumbled something in protest, and Jason gave him a warning nudge with his boot. "Quiet. Grown-ups are talking."