“Does everyone really call him Mini-Riley?”
“I don’t.” And I’d never say “Big-Riley” in front of my boss either. The fact that it’s gotten all the way to Sebastian through the grapevine is terrifying. Quinn wouldn’t have told him.
“Is he here?”
“No, he’s staying the night with Lake’s parents.” I have a feeling he already knew that, the wanker. “Right now he’s probably eating his weight in sugar.” It’s what grandparents do, isn’t it? I never met mine.
“Nice.” He grins and then sits down on the clean spot on the floor, crossing his legs. He looks fucking ridiculous in his fancysuit, trying to make himself small so he doesn’t get dust on it. He shouldn’t have come in here, then.
Ignoring him, I go back to hooking up the pipe and getting everything in place.
“Tell me what you need, and I’ll get it for you,” he says, clearly trying to be helpful.
“What if I want you to leave?”
“That’s not on the menu.”
How’d I know he’d say something to that effect? If he went to the trouble to break into my house, he’s not going to just leave when I ask nicely. When I ask.
The front door opens, and this time I hear it, as I’m not buried under the sink and concentrating. Who the fuck is it now?
“Honey, I’m home.”
Quinn. “Iseveryonecoming over?” I grumble. Fuck, I hope not. I’m not in the mood for thewe’re so in love with each othergroup of men. One is too many.
He appears in the doorway, a bag of takeaway food hanging from his hand. “What are you doing?” he asks, looking around. It’s a weird role reversal from the time I found Lake in here.
“What does it look like?” I snap, tired beyond words.
Quinn nods thoughtfully. “Why don’t you take a break and have some food, and then we can, uh… sort whatever this is out.”
“Renovation,” Sebastian helpfully supplies.
“Right. Sure.”
I hate them both.
I don’t hate the food that Quinn brought. Steak burgers and thick beer-battered chips, and some berry smoothies. It’d be a great meal if they didn’t keep staring at me like they’re waiting for me to break down or something.
“Just say it already,” I grouse halfway through.
“We don’t have anything to say,” Sebastian says as if there’s been a single day in his life that he hasn’t had an insufferable opinion he has to share with the world.
“I thought you’d like some company.”
“You think I can’t handle spending a night alone?” I ask, glaring. I’m not so pathetic that I can’t handle this. Yeah, it’s hard, but I’m dealing with it. It’s temporary, and I just have to get through it.
“I know you can,” Quinn says gently. “Does that mean we can’t visit?”
“Not when you have some ulterior motive.”
“There’s no motive.”
I hate the rational tone he has. I hear it all the time when he uses it on witnesses, suspects, and anyone else that we come into contact with each day. I don’t appreciate it being used on me.
“Look, if you want to offer your unpaid labour, then be my guest. I have plenty of heavy lifting for you to do.”
“If that’s what you need.”
