Page 78

Sebastian’s breath stalls. He peeks through his eyelashes, pretending Mason’s wrong. It’s simply a random skinny guy with tense shoulders who’s severely shy in public settings and has Permanent Scowl Syndrome. This guy justmightlook like Emir, if a person squints. Sebastian’s delusion lasts five seconds, until the guy begins to turn around—

“Yep,” Grey says, lips smacking on strawberry ice cream. “It’s him.” She is now the enemy to Sebastian.

“Huh.” Willie is careful not to meet Sebastian’s eyes, but he smirks as if he has a secret. “He never comes to town with us.”

All of Sebastian’s friends are now dead to him. He’ll begin his search for new ones tomorrow, but first—

Grey asks, “Should we invite him over?”

Sebastian studies his shoes. His cheeks are hot. He refuses to make eye contact or say the wrong thing.

“He doesn’t like us,” Mason says.

“He doesn’t likeyou,” Willie and Grey say together, cracking up.

Mason fakes a laugh while giving them a two-finger salute. “That’s not humanly possible. I’mverylikeable.” His chest is puffed up and his chin juts out. “Isn’t that right, Patrick?”

Grey punches him in the thigh. Panic butts into Sebastian’s life when Grey says, “I’ll get him to come over.”

He manages a “No” that’s both strangled and anxious.

Three heads turn slowly in his direction.

Sighing, Sebastian wriggles off the bench. He dusts off his jeans. He’s fighting off a frown. “I’ll go get him.” His friends’ narrowed eyes confirm that they’re putting it all together.

If he told them, would it be so bad? Mason and Willie have never judged Sebastian, not when he didn’t stop a goal during a game, or when he cried over Sam. Having athingwith Emir should be harmless.

Clearing his throat, Sebastian says, “Maybe he’ll be a little less anxious if I’m the one who invites him over. We’re, um, friends. Again.” He leaves outand I think I’m falling for himbecause that is a moment of pure boxed-macaroni-and-processed-cheese-cheesiness he can’t live out loud.

“Okay,” Mason says. Grey’s smiling eyes affirm Mason’s words. Willie looks skeptical.

Sebastian turns on his heels. He takes a deep breath, stuffs his hands into his pockets, and strides over to the shop.

“Can I have a—?”

“Vanilla and chocolate swirl, right?” Sebastian props his hip against the order window counter like a smooth criminal. Emir sizes him up. Sebastian licks his lips. Emir raises his eyebrow.

“Uh…”

“Still your favorite, right?” Sebastian’s trying not to seem too hopeful.

“No.” Emir turns back to Barb and says, “Actually, can I have a scoop of butter pecan?”

Barb, along with her husband Shea, owns Clovers and Sprinkles. They have an agreement: Barb, with her sweet, kind, wrinkled face, mans the till while Shea, who has a penchant for mumbling four-letter words in his Irish brogue, scoops the ice cream. Sebastian’s pretty sure Barb wears the pants in their relationship, though.

Sebastian’s an absolute idiot. After all these years, Emir couldn’t possibly like the same ice cream flavors. He almost misses it when Barb asks, “Anything for you, Bastian?”

“He’ll have two scoops of cookie dough ice cream in a waffle bowl,” says Emir before Sebastian’s tongue remembers motor skills. Emir wiggles two fingers confidently. “My treat.”

Sebastian does a double take. Of course Sebastian’s still the same, boring guy he was when they were kids, while Emir, who doesn’t like the same ice cream flavors, who’s semi-dated a guy,who has had sex with a guy, has changed.

Emir asks, “Hey, are you okay?”

No. Sebastian wipes at the tingling sweat at his hairline. Eventually, he remembers why he’s standing in line with Emir. “You don’t usually come to town.”

Emir shrugs, an apple-red blush blooming through his cheeks. “Yeah, my mom says I need to try harder to socialize,” he says. “And I thought, well, it was time to be around. Totry, like Zach said.”

Sebastian nods like a happy stoner. He likes that every moment with Emir is like being on a rollercoaster for the first time, minus the wanting to throw up bit. “Cool,” he says.