Page 293 of End Game

“At midnight?”

“Science has no curfew.”

He closes the door. “What are you researching?”

I shut the laptop. “Nothing.”

Micah looks at it. Then me. “Dex.”

“Don't use the voice.”

“I didn't.”

“You thought it.”

He walks over and sits on the floor beside me.

Not across.

Beside.

His shoulder touches mine.

He waits.

I hate when he does that.

Silence is basically emotional waterboarding when someone knows you're avoiding something.

Finally I open the laptop again.

The schedule fills the screen.

Twenty-eight days.

Micah studies it. “Austin's manager sent that?”

“Today.”

“Looks organized.”

“Ronan would masturbate to this spreadsheet.”

Micah snorts. “Probably.”

I scroll.

“Hotel. Flights. Meal stipend. Ground transportation. They apparently own me Monday through Friday from nine until whenever musicians stop being assholes.”

“Okay.”

“Entertainment budget for some nights.”

“Sounds terrible.”

“Right?”

“And introductions.”