Page 196 of Terms of Exposure
Sebastian continued fiddling with the radio until he found something tolerable, the city bustle giving way to country roads.
"Can I ask you something?" Sebastian asked, eyes on the passing fields.
"Depends on what it is."
"Fair enough." He drummed his fingers against his thigh. "Are you actually afraid of rides, or do you just like watching me beg?"
I snorted. "Both."
"Knew it." He grinned. "One ride. Just one. You pick which one, and I'll never ask again."
"Never?"
"Well." He considered it. "Until next time."
"That's not how 'never' works."
"It's fair rules. Different definitions."
I rolled my eyes. "I'm still pissed at your doctor for clearing you for carnival rides."
"You'd wish illness on me?" His face was the epitome of fake sadness.
"Illness?" I laughed. "You mean your self-inflicted overdose and nose-diving from a balcony."
"Excuse you!" he said, feigning offense. "Addiction is an illness."
"I'm not talking about the addiction," I clarified, holding up a finger. "I'm talking about brain trauma."
He huffed out a breath, but didn't argue.
This—the easy banter, the stupid jokes, the complete absence of eggshells—felt foreign. Like wearing someone else's clothes and realizing they fit better.
Garrett had never bantered. He'd performed. Every joke edged sharp. Every compliment carried a cost.
Sebastian just… talked.
Like he enjoyed it.
Like he enjoyed me.
"Fine," I said. "One ride. But I get to pick."
"Deal." He stuck out his hand. I shook it.
The parking lot was a mess of minivans and pickup trucks, familiesspilling out with strollers and wagons and chaotic energy that made my temples throb.
I found a spot near the back and killed the engine.
"Before we go in," he said, suddenly serious. "I need you to know something."
"What?" I groaned, rolling my eyes.
"I'm going to win you a giant stuffed animal tonight." His expression was grave. Solemn. Like he was delivering a terminal diagnosis. "I need you to be emotionally prepared for that."
I stared at him.
"It's going to be embarrassingly large," he continued. "You'll have to carry it around. People will stare. You might even have to give it a name."
