NINETEEN Sebastian #2
“They didn’t mind the first time. The picture of you with your ski goggles is one of my most liked photos of all time.” I knock my knee into hers. “One minute until showtime. Are you ready, Quinny baby?”
“Yeah. Same process as last time.” She smiles at the camera, a natural when it comes to talking to people.
“Morning, chasers. This is The Rainy Day Show, and if you’re new around here, I’m Quincy Monroe.
Today I’m joined by a special guest and a fan favorite.
His appearance has been highly requested.
Seriously. Half of my messages are asking when he’s going to be back.
You love when you see him on the screen. Y’all even have a nickname for us.”
“Wait. They do?”
“You haven’t seen it? They call us Quibby.”
“I’m kind of offended your name is first, Monroe, but you know what? It’s your show, so I won’t argue.”
“That’s what we call collaborative effort. Chasers, please help me welcome Sebastian Dunn back to the program.”
I can’t keep up with the speed of comments popping up on the screen. I catch some of them: Dream duo. I can’t pick a favorite. So glad to see Sebastian again, hope this is a regular thing. They all make me flash my TV grin, and I wave.
“Morning, folks. Thanks for having me, Quincy, and I’m glad we’re not in the middle of a natural disaster this time. Or handling your injury. Wow. I feel like we’re prone to bad luck whenever we team up.”
“We don’t have a good streak going, do we? At least we’re safe in the confines of my office this time.”
“Any chance of a freak storm popping up that is going to hover directly over your house?”
“Not in the forecast.” Her lips twitch. She rests her elbow on her desk, chin cradled in her hand. Thirty thousand people are watching us, but she’s only watching me. “Should be a good day.”
“It already is,” I say, and her smile grows.
“There’s not a lot on the agenda today, y’all.
The tropics are stagnant, which is always a good thing this time of year.
There’s a common misconception that more storms are produced at the beginning of hurricane season, but the most activity happens mid-August to late October.
Seeing that we’re approaching late August, we’re officially in the peak period. ”
“I think you just cursed us, Monroe.” I elbow her side. She squeaks, following it up with a laugh. “You know the first rule of hurricane season.”
“Don’t talk about a quiet hurricane season. Dammit. You’re probably right. I take it back!”
“Too late. The weather gods are angry. You need to offer them something to repent for your misguidance.”
“Can I offer them you?” She tilts her head, looking my way again. “Surely that would satisfy them.”
“I was thinking more like an umbrella or barometer, but, fine. You know what?” I give her foot a tap under the desk. “I’ll take one for the team and do it.”
Quincy finishes her water and I disappear briefly to refill her glass, sliding it in front of her along with a handful of almonds on a paper towel after I hear her stomach rumble.
“The viewer numbers went down the second you left the room,” she tells me. “I might have to get a cardboard cutout of you and put it up every morning so people are more likely to watch.”
“What can I say? It’s a plight to be as good looking as me. And don’t lie. You’d keep the cutout in your room where you could stare at it all day.”
That earns me a kick to the shin before there’s a somber shift in our conversation to the upcoming anniversaries of Hurricane Andrew and Katrina, and we spend some time talking about the significance of their impact years later.
Someone asks how long we’ve known each other, which turns into a fifteen-minute history lesson of our high school and college years. When Quincy laughs at a joke I make so loudly that her desk shakes, I wonder what it would be like to do this every day.
We feed off each other. It’s natural, laid-back. There aren’t any awkward pauses or struggles to move the conversation along, and it’s the easiest time I’ve had in front of a camera in months.
“Is it really almost eleven?” Quincy taps the clock in the corner of her computer screen. “We talked for two hours, which means we kept y’all for way too long.”
“Time flies when you’re having fun, right?” I prop my elbow up, looking her way. “And I, for one, had a blast.”
“Sebastian won’t be joining us tomorrow, but you can find him on social media. His handle is @TheWeatherGuy. I hope to see some of you back here at nine a.m. Until then, be safe. Be kind. Take care of yourselves and others, and we’ll chat more soon.”
“Can I do the official sign-off?”
“Do you think you’re ready for that kind of responsibility?”
“Yeah.” I drag my palms over my thighs. “I can do it.”
“Go ahead, Dunn.”
“Okay.” I roll my shoulders back and grin at the camera. “Chase ya later.”
The screen goes blank, ending the live stream. Almost forty thousand people tuned in to hear us talk, and it’s a testament to how good she is at all of this. How important she is, and it’s an honor to sit next to her.
I get it now.
The job at the NWS isn’t mine to have.
It always belonged to her.
“Wow.” Quincy throws her hair up into a messy ponytail. “That was the smoothest show I’ve ever done.”
“Probably helps that you weren’t trying to cover an impending natural disaster.”
“That’s definitely it. Thanks for joining.”
“Happy to help, Monroe. If you ever want to do it—or anything else—again, I’m game.
” I scoot back and stand, stretching my legs.
The implication hangs there, the proposition I tossed her way last night after I had a couple beers with Cooper and Nate.
I was on the edge of tipsy and thinking about her.
I’d make it really fucking good for you.
“Boredom. Being lonely. You already spend your nights thinking about me. At least this way it could be fun.”
“Every part of me wants to kick you out.” Quincy pulls on the hem of her shorts. I don’t know if I want her to keep them on or rip them off. “But then I think about what you said in your text and …”
“And?”
“I don’t have a lot of time for dating, and the time I do have always ends up with men who don’t appreciate me. I’m not saying I need to be worshipped but … I don’t know. It would be nice to be appreciated. And I felt appreciated that night we were together.”
“You’re not wrong about many things, Quincy, but you’re wrong about that.” I put my hand on the back of her chair, tilting it back so our eyes meet. “You deserve to be worshipped. Thoroughly. Repeatedly. In all the ways that you want.”
“Well.” Her throat bobs around a swallow.
I can’t stop staring at her mouth, the memory of her lips wrapped around me coming back in bursts.
“You’re still in town. I’m here. Since we hooked up, not a single tropical system has developed into something more serious, which is good news for everyone.
Maybe we could—” She blushes. Tries to dip her head, but I wrap my fingers around her chin so she has to look at me. “Do it again.”
“It’s cute how you justify wanting me,” I murmur. “I get you off and we prevent natural disasters? I like that logic, and it sounds like we should be doing this every day. For the greater good of humanity, of course. Not because you liked it.”
“Of course.” Her voice is an echo, reluctant to admit. “Were you serious about that being something you were interested in?”
“What do you want to hear, Quincy? That I want to fuck you?” I bend my neck so our mouths are inches apart.
“That I daydream about being back in your bed and wondering how tight you’d be when I sank into you?
That I’ve missed hearing you talk about the things you love?
That I haven’t stopped thinking about you for a goddamn second?
” I touch her shoulder, fingers tracing down her arm.
Her breath catches, back arching. “It’s all true, and I bet you’ve been thinking about me too. ”