Page 47 of Reactant

Peyton nudged him with his knee. “Suitor.”

“No, that implies he’s trying to woo us.”

“Isn’t he?” Peyton slid off the counter, pressed tight against Sebastian’s back. He kissed his shoulder blade and then slipped around him.

“Well, maybe?” Will grinned widely at Sebastian, his eyes crinkling. “Are you trying to woo us, Sebastian?” he asked sweetly.

“I thought I already had.”

“Mate,” Peyton suggested with a quirk of his lips.

“No,” Sebastian deadpanned.

“Honeybun.” Will was enjoying this even if all the endearments were ridiculous and obviously not what they really wanted to use.

“Sweet pea.”

“Cinnamon duck.” Mmm. Will liked cinnamon.

Sebastian scrunched his eyes closed for a moment. “What the fuck is a cinnamon duck?” he asked in a pained voice.

“A yellow animal rolled in cinnamon,” Peyton supplied.

Will burst out laughing.

“How about I call you two comedians my dick train,” Sebastian said. “The dick train needs to get better coffee.” He rested his hands on his hips, just above the curve where his sweatpants were hanging low.

“All aboard,” Peyton said, smirking.

Quinn cleared his throat. “No, to every single one of those terms. If I hear the words ‘dick train’ at any point moving forward, I’m going home. Alone. Why don’t we go with the old-fashioned word, partner? Is that acceptable?”

Sebastian tilted his head, eyes locked with Peyton, who leered at him. “Sure,” he said.

Will just knew the two of them were going to try to find a way to use “dick train” in bed. He wondered if Quinn would really leave? He doubted it if clothes were off. Probably not even before that.

“I have to get to work,” Quinn muttered. “It’s too early for any of this.”

Will made sure to give him a kiss good enough that he was going to be thinking about it all day.

Quinnabsentlyscrolledthroughhis phone as he and Angela waited for their afternoon coffee order. They had two standing daily orders: one in the morning and one in the afternoon —which they confirmed each morning and was usually ready by the time they got there—but there was a new barista that was slow as they learned the ropes. Quinn didn’t mind. Grady had been in a foul mood since he’d stepped foot in the station that morning, and it hadn’t eased all day. He was on the warpath, so getting out of the office for a momentary reprieve had seemed like the best decision. The delay gave him safety for a while longer.

Quinn flicked over to the group chat that Riley had been forced to set up on their new work platform. He huff-laughed, smirking slightly at the picture that Grady had put in it. It was a crude drawing of someone—he assumed it was a person, it was hard to tell—drowning in a giant mug of round things that were likely marshmallows. It was… creative. Quinn wondered what chaos they’d missed while they’d been gone.

There were a few comments underneath.

Riley:This is for work purposes only.

Grady:It will be soon when I commit homicide.

Riley:How do I turn off the notifications for this thing?

Gideon:Is that me?

There were heart eyes next to Gideon’s comment.

“So,” Ange drawled.

“No,” Quinn replied without looking up. He had no idea what she was going to say, but they were both tired after a long morning. Nothing good could come of the word “so.”

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