Oliver’s hand continued its massage while his frown deepened. “That’s two.”
“Two?”
“You’ve called me kid twice now,” Oliver grumbled. “Let’s not make it three.”
He dropped his hand on the table with a loud smack, as though the limb had gotten too heavy to continue holding it up. “I’m so far from a kid that I can’t even remember what I looked like.”
Boyd snorted. “Well to an old guy like me you seem pretty kid-like.”
Oliver rolled his eyes. “Whatever.”
“See?” Boyd pointed at him. “That right there. That word is a clear indication of teenage-edness. I’m thinking seventeen, maybe eighteen?”
Oliver moved so quickly that Boyd jumped. But instead of the imagined knife, gun, poisonous dart, or live man-eating spider that Boyd had been expecting, Oliver slammed his wallet on the table. He f
