“It’s not,” Fury said in his characteristic growl. “My thing.”
“Oh.” Nathan coughed. Of course, he would try to push weed on a teetotaler. That was Nathan’s style, right there. Smooth. “Well. Sure. Not with what you do for a living, right? Can’t be good for the—”
“I got other things.”
Nathan shut his mouth with an audible clack of teeth. Fury still studied Nathan, hands loose at his sides, shoulders at ease, expression neutral. If the fighting thing ever failed, Fury had a bright future in poker. “That right?” Nathan asked.
Fury nodded, and again, it was slow. “Yeah.” Fury looked Nathan up and down, just like he had after Nathan had spotted him on the weight bench. Must be trying to place him. No way was it anything else.
“You were at the gym,” Fury said at last.
With the threads of
