FOUR Quincy #2
I roll my eyes, refusing to give in to his game. “Congratulations on the new gig. I hope it gets you out of town as quickly as possible.”
“You can admit you miss me when I’m not here, Monroe.”
“In your dreams, Dunn.” Five minutes together, and we’re falling back into rhythm like we’re knee-deep in dissertations and competing for TA positions.
Going against each other for valedictorian or an internship at the local news station up in Orlando.
For as long as I can remember, Sebastian has been a part of my life, whether I like it or not.
I point at the iPhone on the ground to distract myself. “Is that yours?”
“It is. Thanks for not crushing it.”
“There’s still time for that. Besides, how would you post videos for all your fans without it?”
“Are you one of those fans?”
“Again. In your dreams.”
“I have a lot of dreams.” Another smirk and the lift of his shoulder in a shrug. “Maybe I’ll share them with you one day.”
“I’m waiting with bated breath,” I draw out. “You don’t use a case?”
“I like to live life on the edge.”
“Chasing severe weather doesn’t do it for you anymore?”
“It’s more fun to see if my twelve-hundred-dollar phone screen is going to shatter,” he says.
“Everyone has a thing, even if yours is teetering toward unhinged behavior.”
“Wait until I tell you I don’t have a passcode.” He bends down to scoop up the phone, nodding when he inspects it. “Good as new.”
“I’m so happy for you.”
“There’s that sarcasm again,” Sebastian says, tucking his phone in his back pocket. “Are you food shopping?”
“Checking out home furnishings, actually. I’ve been thinking about redecorating my living room,” I say.
“And you’re using the grocery store as inspiration? I knew I’ve seen this on a Pinterest board before. The black beans will really add to the ambiance.”
“What ambiance is that? Legume-y?”
“Mm-hmm. Significantly better than whole grain, obviously.”
“There’s a chili cook-off tonight.” I bite my bottom lip to keep an unwanted laugh at bay. He’s not worthy of it. “Harlow, Mia, and I entered, and I needed to make a last-minute grocery store run.”
“What’s your secret ingredient?”
“Nice try.”
Sebastian holds up a small can and taps the side. “Poblano peppers are mine.”
“That’s innovative.” My molars ache from how hard I’m grinding them together. “I guess that means I’m going to be forced to see you later?”
“And for the extended future. Aren’t you lucky?” His grin is back, and this time, it’s a wicked, terrible thing. “I’ll make sure to keep my annoyingness to a minimum.”
“I’d appreciate it. I’m very busy these days.”
“I’m sure you are.” He leans against an endcap and folds his arms across his chest. He taps his fingers on his biceps, right along the sleeve that hits the curve of his muscle. I keep my eyes on his face. “How are the videos going? The live shows and all of that?”
All of that, like he’s reducing what I do to talking into a camera instead of poring over scientific data until my brain is foggy and there’s a crick in my neck.
“They’re going well,” I tell him, in the mood to brag.
“I hit a big milestone recently, and I think this hurricane season is going to be the best one yet from a subscriber perspective. Renewed interest in climate change and severe weather is bringing in more viewers. More interest means more motivation to keep creating content to educate and help keep people safe.”
His eyes hold mine. Sharp, deliberate. “A million followers, right?”
I suck in a breath. “How do you know that?”
“You don’t think I keep tabs on my competition? I have to make sure you’re not kicking too much ass, Monroe, or I’d have to step up my game and win another Emmy.”
He says it lightheartedly, but I hear the truth hidden in the joke.
He keeps tabs on me, like I do with him.
It’s how I know he was in Oklahoma last month after an EF4 tornado wiped out an entire town. It’s why I know he went to California in January when forest fires were burning up and down the West Coast.
There’s the voyage to Antarctica to show the change in glacier geography over the last thirty years. The trip he took to South America to interview residents in a small village about the severe drought they were experiencing.
Sebastian is never far from my mind.
I must not be far from his either.
“I should get a move on. It’s going to take at least two tries to get this chili right, and I don’t want to keep Harlow and your sister waiting.”
“Same.” He straightens his cart, the basket empty except for the can of peppers and a Snickers bar. King-size, peanut butter flavored. “Lots to do.”
“Cool. Good luck.”
I turn, but before I can leave the conversation that’s made me feel like I’m stripped bare—like I’ve revealed too much of myself to him and he’s going to use it as ammunition later—fingers brush against the hook of my elbow.
A gentle grasp, rooting me in place. I look down and find Sebastian’s hand on my skin, and I stare at where he’s holding me.
“Look, Quincy. I …” He trails off and lets go, reluctance in the way his palm tucks into his pocket like he did something wrong. Hesitancy in what comes next. “I’m sorry.”
I can count on one hand the number of times he’s called me by my first name: a rebuttal during a meteorology forecast discussion in college; the year he wished me happy birthday with a single cupcake I tossed in the trash out of fear it might be laced with a laxative.
Alarms sound in my head.
“Sorry?” I repeat. “For what?”
“All of it.”
“All of it,” I echo, incapable of my own thoughts. “Do you mean global warming and not using a paper straw?”
“No.” He pauses and huffs out a laugh. Shakes his head and grins. The dimple pops again, and I’m still not a fan. “Never mind. Forget I said anything.”
“It’s already forgotten.”
“This is way more fun. I love when we play.”
“We’re not playing anything.”
“Sure we’re not,” he says. “I’ll see you later at the cook-off.”
“I can barely hold back my excitement.”
Sebastian knocks my shoulder with his when he moves toward the bread aisle. I pretend like it doesn’t send a jolt of electricity up my spine. “Don’t miss my pretty face too much until then.”
“Missing you isn’t part of the plan,” I answer, desperate to get away from him. “It’s never been part of the plan.”
“We’ll see about that,” he calls out, and when I have to suppress a smile, I hate him more than I did ten minutes ago.