“Funny thing, that,” Sebastian says. “I live here.”
“Where’s Quinn?” I should have called first. Assuming Quinn came here first without plans to be elsewhere is a rookie move. He could be anywhere in the city. I should have just gone home.
“Shopping with Will.” Sebastian’s head tilts, studying me like a bug. “You look like you need a drink.”
What does that look like? I always look like this when I’m dealing with him. And I’m not in the mood for it.
Before I can turn around and leave, he says, “You want to come in? We still have some of that shit beer you like from the last time you stayed for dinner.”
“Well, with that kind of invitation, how can I say no?” I respond with dripping sarcasm. It’s not shit beer; he just has no taste buds. “My beer is a locally sourced craft beer and the best thing you’ll ever taste.” As if I’d buy anything but the best. Any alcohol I have is of the highest quality because I have discerning taste. No fucking boxed wine in my house, not even when that was all I could afford. Some idiots don’t have taste; I’m not one of them.
“I’ll take your word for it.”
Sebastian leaves the door open and heads back into the house, which I assume means I’m to follow. I’d rather slam the door shut, get back in my car, and head home. I’m already late, and Lake will have noticed by now.
Except when I pull out my phone, there aren’t any missed calls or messages asking where I am. Just one from Lake that says, “Gonna be late getting home. Love you.” What the hell is he doing?
Sebastian’s in the kitchen, staring into the fridge. He glances back at me. “We have stronger stuff if you want?”
I don’t want to know what expression is on my face to prompt that question. “No. I have to drive.” Being stuck here for too long alone with Sebastian sounds like a horrifying psych experiment.
Sebastian pops the top off the beer using the edge of the counter and slides it across without another word. He does it again for a second one and winks at me before taking a long drink. What a fucking show-off.
I empty half of my own and then put it down, fiddling with the label.
“Are you here for something case related? Because don’t let Will or Peyton hear that; shoptalk isn’t allowed in the house.”
“Should we go on the porch, then?”
“There’s probably a radius attached to the rule. Not justinthe house.”
“And you’re so domesticated, you just do what you’re told?” Wish that worked in the courthouse when he’s being a dickhead lawyer, trying to show us our asses.
“It’s been an adjustment since I’m used to working twenty-four seven, but you’ve never really been scolded until Will looks at you with sad eyes.”
“It’s not work related,” I say stiffly. I leave work where it belongs: at work. I’ve seen better cops than me get burned out because they couldn’t switch off, couldn’t separate from it. Iplan on having a long career that doesn’t leave me a traumatic mess by retirement, no matter what I see on my shifts. Having someone to come home to, someone like Lake, definitely helps. His total acceptance of my job, and of me, is a pleasure I never expected.
“Relationship troubles.”
He doesn’t know how to keep his mouth shut, does he? “No.”
Sebastian nods in that condescending way that people do when they don’t believe an answer. “This calls for food. I think there’s some—well, hello.” He pulls out a half-empty packet of Tim Tams. “That’s unexpected.”
“What is?” I stare suspiciously at the packet. Is it poisoned? It’s poisoned, isn’t it?
“If something’s already open, Will makes it his life’s mission to finish it off. Sometimes he has midnight snacks. Leftovers rarely survive the night.”
Quinn’s said as much at work. I don’t want to think about the cost of keeping their tactical officer fed. “I don’t want any food.”
“It’ll help soak up some of that alcohol so you can leave sooner.”
He makes it sound reasonable, but we both know a couple of Tim Tams aren’t going to make any difference whatsoever. I reach for one anyway. Taking a sip after the bite is a mistake, however. Fucking gross. Those two flavours don’t mix.
I finish two of them, gathering courage. Maybe I’ll be too disgusted by the food to be disgusted by the conversation. “With four boyfriends, there are a lot of exes, right?” There’s a lot of coverage.
“Not as many as you’d think,” Sebastian answers easily as if it’s not an out-of-the-blue, completely random question. Asshole thinks too well on his feet. “Peyton and Will were only dating each other before us—even if they didn’t realise it was dating. Jericho… he doesn’t like to talk about it, insists none of itmatters. Quinn…” Sebastian shrugs, though there’s a flicker of pain that crosses his gaze, disappearing from one second to the next. “I don’t think about it.”
“At all?” There’s no way I believe he doesn’t overthink everything.
