Sleet Banshee by S.J. Tilly
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
SEBASTIAN
“S
hots!” My sister exclaims as she plunks down a trio of tequilas.
“Anna, what the fuck?” My hands raise in a WTF gesture.
“What?” She rolls her eyes at me. “Fine, be a giant pussy. Samuel can have yours.”
“Damn right,” Samuel says, slamming one of the shots.
“I’m not a pussy, you twat. I’m a professional athlete. I can’t just get drunk whenever I feel like it.”
She and Samuel turn to each other and mouth I’m aprofessional athlete, making mocking faces.
“Why am I even here with you idiots?” I look at the ceiling.
This place is the definition of a dive bar. That’s even it’s name, Dive. It’s a piece-of-shit tiki bar, but it’s not far from my sister’s place, so we often find ourselves here. And as semi-regulars ourselves, the other locals tend to leave us alone, no longer starstruck at my appearance.
Thankfully, Anna looks just as much like a LeBlanc as Samuel and I do, with jet black hair and olive skin, so everyone knows we’re family. There’s nothing creepier than someone asking you if you’re dating your sister. The three of us sitting together leaves no doubt that this is a table of relatives.
It’s a shame Curtis is busy with his own set of twins tonight. As the oldest, he’s always been the most sensible. I could go for some of his level-headedness to even out the upcoming conversation.
“We’re here,” Samuel smirks and taps the table, “because you want to know when your sexy little Banshee is going to be at the museum again.”
“Wait, what?” Anna asks. “Rewind. What did I miss? I thought we were celebrating a work thing.”
Samuel smirks. “In a roundabout way.” He turns to face her, leaving me the odd man out. “My work definitely got more interesting since I got to witness our brother here swooning all over a girl, in my museum.”
“I don’t swoon,” I grumble. But I don’t know why I even bother, since they’re both ignoring me.
Listening to my big-mouth twin retell the encounter with his guaranteed exaggeration is going to drive me mad, so I block them out while I scroll through various hockey scores on my phone until he winds down.
“And now he’s begging me to tell him when Meghan will be back so he can stalk her some more.”
I tune back in. “I don’t beg, dickhead.”
Samuel keeps his eyes locked with Anna. “Literal begging. Like - knees on the floor, weeping onto my shoes, begging.”
Drama-queen Anna is eating this shit up.
“Sebastian," she whines, finally looking at me. “I can’t believe I’ve lived to see the day when you have an actual girlfriend.”
I toss my hands up. “She’s not my fucking girlfriend. I like her. She’s hot. I’d like to sleep with her again. End of story.”
“Again?” Samuel narrows his eyes.
Fuck. I didn’t mean to say that. Not that I was really trying to keep it a secret. We may swing for different teams, but Samuel’s my twin and we normally share every graphic detail. Half the time, we’re just trying to gross the other out. So I don’t really have a reason for not telling him, other than the fact that I’ve been busy.
I sigh. “Yeah, well, there was this one time… ”
“At band camp...” my sister chuckles.
I roll my eyes, but Samuel’s staring at me like he’s trying to see inside my brain.
Then his eyebrows fly up. “Wait! Please tell me you banged her in an alley.”
“What the fuck?”
“What the fuck!”
Anna and I reply the same way, but our tones are very different.
