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Chapter Eight
JOHNNY
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BAY GRATTON. PREPPY, basketball playing jock and Bexley’s older brother.
We don’t click.
Never have.
And I doubt we ever will. The fists he’s squeezing at his side look ready to knock me unconscious.
I straighten. “Hey, Bay. It’s been a second.”
Bexley pushes my hands off her and takes a step away from me. Unbelievable. The man still has some overpowering fatherlike grip over her.
“Figures. The second you’re home, she’s drunk.”
“I’m not drunk,” Bexley says.
I fold my arms over my chest. “She’s a grown adult. I don’t make the decisions for her.”
“I’m not drunk,” Bexley repeats.
“But you sure know how to steer people toward the bad ones.” Bay takes a step toward me. “Do I need to familiarize you with how this is going to play out?”
I take a step towardhim. I let my arms fall to the sides. “You can try.”
“Stop it.” Bexley touches my side, but I don’t back down. I’m not the same young kid I’d been back in the day. I don’t give a shit what people think about me anymore. I know who I am. And this punk isn’t going to be ordering Bexley or me around.
Bay takes another step. “If you’re a drunk like your dad, it won’t be an issue.”
“Bay!” Bexley scolds.
I take the next step. “No, it just means I won’t feel it as badly tonight. But you will.”
“Hey!” Bexley is between us. She spreads her arms and presses her palm flat against each of our chests. “Back off. Both of you.”
She shoves our chests until we each take a step back. Good. I didn’t want to fight him, but it doesn’t mean I won’t.
“What are you doing?” Her gaze glances between us. “Fighting like teenagers in high school? And why, exactly? Because Johnny likes bikes and you like sports? Get over it. You’re both grown-ass men. Act like it. Good night.” She storms off, leaving me alone with Bay. A place I’m not too fond of being.
“Drink?” I offer out of respect for Bexley.
“Get out of my face, Creed.” That’s the answer I prefer.
I want to piss off. Chase after Bexley. Put as much distance between Bay and me as I can.
