“Part of your holistic lifestyle makeover?”
“It spikes your blood sugar and depletes your electrolytes.”
“You know it’s all horseshit, right? It’s people afraid of dying, so they fill their bodies with kale and seaweed like it’s some magic elixir. I mean, who wants to live forever anyway?”
Another pair of martini glasses appeared between them, and Oliver saluted his brother with one. “I’m really glad you’re here.”
“Of course I’m here. You said the first five rounds were on you.”
“No.” Oliver pressed a hand to Seb’s shoulder. Stringing the next sentences together took some work. “I’m glad you’re in Seacroft. It would suck a lot if I were here by myself.”
Seb laughed. “I was here first.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re still here! And I’m sorry about before.”
“When?”
“Before.” Oliver waved a hand over his shoulder, then had to grasp the back of his chair to keep from falling off it. “Before. Everything. I haven’t been a very good big brother.”
Seb jabbed a finger at him, but missed the mark and wound up gliding past Oliver’s ear. “Do not get sappy on me. We cannot start crying all over each other in the middle of this bar.”
Oliver wrapped an arm around his younger brother and gathered him up in a hug. Vodka and olive juice splashed against his neck. His drink or Seb’s, it didn’t matter. “I should go home.” He should call Nick. Assuming he was accepting Oliver’s calls again. A little quality time would be the perfect way to finish his mission to forget about his stupid meeting with the board.
Oliver stepped down from his chair. The bar spun pleasantly around him.
Seb grabbed at his sleeve. “It’s still early. You need to stay.”
“I have to work tomorrow. At the market.” The fucking market. Where Marsha and Whatshisface would stare daggers at him from across the way and plot their revenge, because he didn’t think Ponce de Leon would give two shits about their apples.
“Fuck the market!” Seb said it louder than he should.
“Stop. I have to work there!” Oliver laughed as he shushed him, pressing his hand to Seb’s mouth.
They helped each other out the door, wobbling the whole way. Another half martini, and they probably would have been singing.
“I should call a cab,” Oliver said as he pulled out his phone. He’d driven downtown for his meeting. He’d have to get his car sometime, but he was in no condition to drive.
“Want me to wait with you?”
“No. I’ll be okay.” Oliver waved him off as he tried, and failed, to dial the number for Seacroft’s one lonely taxi service. If the farmer’s market succeeded in running him out of business, Oliver was going to look into starting up Lyft in Seacroft. A little healthy competition for the cab company that hadn’t updated its sedans in a decade or more couldn’t hurt.
“Sounds good. Martin is probably wondering where I got to. He worries about stuff like that. Did I tell you he thought I was a ghost when we first met?”
Oliver laughed as he continued to fumble with his phone. “You did. Spooky Seb. Oooo!” He raised his arms, floating on his toes while Seb laughed along with him.
Seb gave him a smacking kiss on the cheek. “We should have done this months ago. When you first got here. I’m sorry I was a terrible little brother.”
Oliver squeezed him until Seb gasped. “You’re a great little brother.”
Seb stumbled away, down the street toward his apartment.
Oliver turned his attention back to the phone, trying to find the number for a cab. Instead, the phone shook in his hand as a call came in.
Incoming call
Cooper Parnell
He nearly threw up when he saw the name.
