“Can you do one right now? How about Tupac?”
“I’m not good with performing under pressure, but I promise I’ll work in something fun next time I’m on the air.”
Whenever the fuck that might be.
“Sick.Blake,” he yells. Another quarter of his drink is lost to the grass as he sprints to a group of guys wearing matching T-shirts that sayGetting Hitched to the Bitch. I want to deck them all in the face. “I just met Tupac!”
I duck to the left before someone can ask me for a mediocre rendition of “California Love.” A row of carnival games calls my name and I sit on a tiny stool in front of a water gun.
No better way to celebrate a new door possibly opening than with overpriced entertainment rigged to make you spend money without winning.
“Can I play by myself?” I ask the attendant leaning against a wall.
“No.” He pops a bubble with his gum and doesn’t look up from his phone. “Two-person minimum.”
“Cool. I’ll stare at the fish.”
“I don’t care what you do.”
“I didn’t get that impression.”
“Carnival games?” Long legs fold into the stool to my right. When I see a short dress that shows off tan thighs I pivot, grinning when I find Quincy looking at me. “Interesting.”
“What a surprise this is. Now who’s following who?”
“Richard is out of town, and Mia planned our night so she didn’t have to spend the evening at home alone.” A muscle in Quincy’s jaw works. “So here we are.”
“He’s out of town again? What the fuck does that guy do for work? Something with the CIA?”
“Banking, I think. Mia says it’s a busy time of year for him.”
“Be honest with me, Pres. Do I need to kick his ass? I’ve never been in a fight, but if Mia is upset, I’ll learn how to throw a punch real quick. Cooper teaches self-defense classes. He can show me a move or two.”
“No. She’s okay.” Her face softens. “You’d do that for her?”
“She’s my baby sister.” I rub my jaw, smiling when I think about the tents we used to make in our small living room with old sheets. The nights I’d read her princess book to her until she fell asleep while Mom worked two jobs to put food on the table. She’s marriednow, to a guy who spoils her rotten, but there were years where Mia and I had to share shoes. Summers when we organized lemonade stands so we could buy Mom a purse for Christmas. “I’d do anything for her. Sometimes I wish …” I laugh and shake my head. This conversation is turning heavy. Way too far outside our usual discussions. “Never mind.”
“Truth or Dare, Dunn?”
“Truth, Monroe. I don’t doubt that you’d make me streak around here and laugh when I got arrested for public indecency.”
“You’re not wrong.” Quincy turns on her stool, staring at me. Attention heavy. Curiosity in the slight lean of her shoulders. “Sometimes you wish what?”
“I wish I was around more. I missed Mia’s engagement. I missed Cooper breaking his ankle earlier this year after he literally jumped out of a tree to save a cat. I missed Nate moving into a bigger bakery storefront last summer, and it feels like … it feels like I’m in their lives, but I’m not really a part of their lives, if that makes any sense.”
“Why don’t you come to town more often? You make it work during the holidays. You’re here now.”
“Because my boss sees this project I’m working on as a moneymaker. Asking for a week off during a historic blizzard doesn’t usually go over well.”
She hums and fixes the strap of her dress. My eyes drop to her collarbone, the sharp planes and soft curves of her body, and I decide her outfit is showing off entirely too much skin to be good for my mental health.
“Maybe the project will be a success and you can leverage some power in getting more days off. Finding a compromise. It wouldn’t be the worst thing if you were around town more. Spending time with your sister is important. My personal feelings toward you shouldn’t get in the way of that.”
“It wouldn’t?” I lift an eyebrow, my grin slow. “Thought you hated me, Monroe.”
“I still do.” Quincy pauses, less bark behind her bite than usual. The edge of careful consideration. Acceptance and exhaustion too. “You just looked sad sitting by yourself.”
“Is that why you’re ogling me?” I ask, her gaze jumping from the tattoo on my arm to my face. “My eyes are up here.”
