I Don't Even Like Lana Del Rey

Will’s thoughts were going in a very inappropriate direction, and he had a growing suspicion that they were being led in that direction by a firm, determined hand. He gave another half-hearted bark of a laugh and threw back the remaining coffee like a shot.

“Maybe Zeller and Price changed the wrong number’s ringtone. Jack’s not the one listening to me when I feel like I’m coming unhinged and feeding me the best damn food I’ve ever eaten in my life.”

“No,” Hannibal agreed quietly, “he is not.”

The tension and low thrum of arousal were making Will speak impulsively. He knew this, but he’d just finished his drink. There was nothing he could use to stop the question, blunt and presumptuous and rude.

“So, what, you’re my daddy?”