"Unless you fall on your ass, that is. Or chop your own hand off," she corrected him, matter-of-factly. "Remind me again why I let you guard my back?" For the most part it was a rhetorical question, and one she greatly enjoyed asking him. Especially when Evan chose to point out her own accidents. "Hey, that wasn't my fault. The dumbass training him said the gun wasn't loaded." Whereas his tone had been cool and confident, Leah's was heated and defensive.
Yeah, that reaction basically had her convinced by now that Evan was drunk or high or some combination of the two. His laughter never sounded genuinely amused, least of all when it came in response to one of her jokes. She fought the urge to crack a smile. "Best game ever, I think."
One bottle of champagne, even if drunk in one sitting, wouldn't be enough to get someone like Evan to turn into Mr. Chuckles. Nor did his pack of cigarettes resemble anything she'd ever seen that could get someone high. Damned if it wasn't piquing her curiosity to find out what was going on with him today. Maybe he'd gotten laid. With a soft snort, she added that to the growing list of possibilities.
"Ah, all things considered unhealthy by American standards." Or as far as she was aware, anyway. Talk of smoking, however, dragged her attention back to the pack of cigarettes beside him. Leah pursed her lips. Evan was back to taunting her again.
Well, there was a reason she was always (okay, not always, but her ego was saying otherwise) able to grab first pick of the "party favors." Without invitation, she reached out and snatched the pack. Her original intent was to be generous and only take one, but impatience caused her fingers to fumble, dragging one out in her grip while two others fell to the ground. Sighing, Leah slammed the pack down, sliding it and the two fallen cigarettes back toward Evan.
Lighting it up would've been the next obvious step toward enjoyment. Her lighter was in her pocket; all she had to do was reach in and dig it out. Leah was loath to be the one to shatter whatever it was that was happening now, though. She was waiting — no, hoping — for the punchline. For Evan to snap out of it and grin with satisfaction that he'd fooled her, made her think something important was happening. Made her look less assured.
French words. What better way to make her look like a fool than to speak to her in a language she didn't know. That was part of the joke, right? Except it wasn't. Leah stared at him, unsure how to react. What were the chances that she, of all the people left in the world, would be the one wearing Evan's dead wife's engagement ring?
Slim to none, and yet, here they were. Evan looked at her again, his eyes shining this time, and Leah had to look away. Setting the bottle down beside her, the woman slid the ring off her finger. When he mentioned the inscription, her heart stuttered. So, he had lost someone. As harsh as it would sound, Leah wished that fact had remained hidden. She didn't like knowing her situation was similar to someone she vehemently disliked.
Her eyes followed the words of the inscription as he recited them, and she repeated them back, her voice unusually soft. She wondered if she should mention the female corpse she'd found lying in that apartment. Would it ease his pain any? Did she want to ease his pain?
Sliding herself a little closer, Leah reached out and placed the ring on top of the pack of cigarettes. "Didn't really fit my finger, anyway," she lied, retreating back to the place she'd been seated. Suddenly she found herself imagining how Lilah felt whenever Leah or Kori got emotional. Should she leave? If it was her in Evan's place, she'd want to be left alone.
Standing, Leah collected her bottle of champagne and turned to leave, wishing for all the world that she could erase the memory of Evan's torn expression from her mind.