Page 85 of Cozen

All night.

He didn’t give a shit about Jett.

“You know,” said a voice from Sargon’s side, “I am not sure my father would appreciate the way you are looking at his date for the evening.”

Yeah, whiskey made everything better.

Except for this night.

Sargon tossed back the third shot, turned his back to Jett and Cozen, and slammed the shot glass to the bar. “Another three, thanks.”

The bartender’s brow shot up, but he did as he was told.

Dash, however, laughed. “Did you not hear me, or what?”

“I heard you,” Sargon muttered, passing Jett’s youngest son—and the owner of the establishment—a look. “I just don’t care what you have to say.”

“Little unwise, isn’t it? I might have useful things to say, Sarg.”

Sargon sneered. “It’s Sargon. Call me that again, and Jett or no Jett, I will feed you your fingertips after I slice them off your fingers.”

“Touchy.” The twenty-five year old turned his back to the bar, and looked out on the floor. Sargon stayed just like he was. “I meant what I said, though. Dad gets particular about his females. I mean, he hasn’t had many since mom died a while back, but still. He doesn’t like the idea of somebody encroaching on what he’s chasing after.”

“Nobody is encroaching on anything.”

“He only needs the idea you are. Get what I’m saying?”

“She’s hard not to admire. And he is showing her off.”

“Fair enough.” Dash turned and snatched one of Sargon’s three new shots before quickly slamming it back. Letting out a hard breath, he set the shot glass back to the table. “It’s fucked up to think the next woman my dad might marry—technically it would make her my step-mother—is the same age as me.”

Yep.

That did it.

Sargon waved a hand at the bartender to get the guy’s attention. “Just get me the whole bottle.”

“Sir—”

“I want the bottle.”

“Sir, I can’t give you the bottle. I can give you a couple more shots instead.”

Fuck it all to hell.

Whiskey was going to make something better. Sargon would call one of Jett’s other men to drive him to the mansion.

Sargon was not drunk.

No.

He was … buzzed.

Yes, that worked.

Slightly buzzed, but definitely not drunk. Buzzed enough that he had not been able to drive the car home, but that was fixed easily enough when another man stepped in to help. Frankly, Sargon was a lucky fuck.

Jett had been far too caught up in Cozen to even realize Sargon was not on his game. So much so, that he hadn’t even looked for Sargon when he left the restaurant. He just assumed the man would follow right behind.