The Boy I Grew Up With
Page 2

No hate against the red lipstick. I’m a fan of it myself, but it’s a weapon. And this girl had so much of it caked on that she was going for the desperate/stalker/you-better-fear-me-because-I’ve-got-a-slasher-knife-in-my-backpack-and-I-put-three-tracking-devices-on-you-before-you-even-talked-to-me vibe.
I shifted back and gave Brandon a side-eye look. “Really?”
He rolled his eyes and shrugged. “What? She was hot that night.” He muttered under his breath, “And I was tanked.”
“Heather.” The girl flicked some of her hair off her shoulder in a haughty motion. “You can understand my frustration here, can you not? He courted me. He wined and dined me, and now I keep finding him with a new girl every night.” Her lip curled, and she threw a sneer at the bathroom door. “He could do better too. I’m at least an eight. She’s a six.”
“I heard that!” Something thumped against the inside of the bathroom door. “You’re psychotic!”
“I’m not psychotic. I take offense to that. I’m very classy.”
“You’re delusional.” The bathroom girl huffed. “I’m calling the police!”
Oh.
Whoa, whoa, whoa.
That gave me a jolt. Some of my hangover dissipated. “Let’s not be hasty here.” I raised my voice. “Right? No police need to be called.”
Who wanted police called to their house? Hello. No one. Certainly not me. That’d been instilled at an early age by a chain-smoking mama before she ditched me, and enforced by an on-again-off-again boyfriend who had more than his fair share of run-ins with the cops. Not to mention, cops. They were cops.
No one needed that attention.
I turned and glared at Brandon. “This is your problem. Why am I fixing it?”
He gestured to the crazy girl with a brisk wave. “I can’t do anything with her. She’s not moving. If I touch her…”
Fuck. Shit. Fuckety shit, shit, shit. I had a whole slew of curses in my head, but he was right. Somewhat. This girl was the type to call assault if he touched her arm. She was talking like she had such class, but it was all bullshit.
And how had she gotten in here?
“You.” I pointed at Psycho Girl.
“Me?” She adopted an innocent drawl, and just like that, the stalker vibe vanished. She even smoothed a hand over her hair, attempting a demure look. “You must see my side of this. I mean, it’s not proper etiquette to court one woman and then be involved in a sex tryst with a whore behind my back.”
Shit like that set my teeth on grinder.
I started for her. “It’s time to go. Now.”
“I’m calling the cops!” The girl inside the bathroom hollered again. “So doing it. Right now. My finger’s on the nine as I’m speaking.”
“And you!” I went to the door and slammed a fist against it. “You call the cops here and you’re banned from Manny’s.”
I considered that the ace up my sleeve.
She gasped through the door, “What?”
Manny’s is the bar and grill Brandon and I run. It was our dad’s, named after him, but when he decided retirement and an RV caravan were his next mission in life, we took it over. I’m the official owner, but Brandon runs the bar. It’s another reason we’re both in this house. It’s right behind the place that is our life.
Well…
Full disclosure here: Manny’s is more my life than Brandon’s. He goes clubbing. He has friends. He has one-night stands, as is annoyingly obvious right now. This is because he’s more okay with letting the night manager close the bar for him, while I still struggle—hence three hours ago.
All that to say, I don’t issue threats like that lightly.
No matter who was inside Brandon’s bathroom, it would suck for her not to be allowed in Manny’s. I’m not being cocky; I’m being factual. Our place is popular in a town that houses a whole heap of millionaires. Most social circles enjoy getting drunk there.
She sniffled, and a low, guttural growl followed. “You wouldn’t.”
I would, and she knew it. So did Get Off His Dick, and I locked eyes with her. One problem done, the second soon to follow.
“You gotta go,” I said it flatly, and then waited.
“But…” She started to rally up a protest, but I shook my head.
“I mean it.” I jerked my thumb toward the door. “You have a problem with Brandon, you bring it up to him later, when he’s fully clothed. You can be mad at him. I don’t give a rat’s ass, but not here, not on my time, and not when you know his dick is in some other girl.”
“I didn’t.”
I raised an eyebrow, and she stopped herself.
Her eyes lowered. “I thought he liked me.” She sniffled, but no guttural growl came after. Her tone changed. There was no bullshit, no act. She was really hurt, and I looked back to Brandon.
The girl in the bathroom wasn’t immune either. She murmured a pitying, “Oh.”
A flicker of regret flared over Brandon’s face for a moment. His head dropped, and he coughed, clearing his throat. “I know this might be hurtful…”
The sad girl vanished, and her head whipped back up. “You don’t care!”
Nope. It was an act. We were all suckers.
Her eyes went wild. She jabbed her finger in the air at him, and then she launched.
I saw it coming the second he opened his mouth, and I was ready. Stepping forward, my shoulder hit hers, slamming her body into the closet doors.
“Move, Brandon!” I yelled.
He lunged around me, and I kept going with my momentum.
Grabbing her arm, I steered her to the hallway and placed a hand on her back, walking her toward the door before she realized she was being manhandled out of the house.
“But—what?”
“Time for you to go.” I kept a smile in my voice.
Pet the hair. Make her feel good. Yes, yes. We’re just going out here for a present. That’s all we’re doing. That’s the feeling I gave her until I had the door open and could deliver one more hard nudge to her back.
She almost stumbled to the porch, and I would’ve felt bad, seeing how bewildered she was, but the girl was crazy. When she was completely outside, I stood in the doorway and crossed my arms over my chest. I was a medium-height lady with tanned and toned legs and a kimono robe that stopped just below my vagina.
I knew how I looked.
I could do crazy too. Hell, some of the time I did. That look works, usually, but it wouldn’t right now. Instead I pulled out my tough-bitch boss look and lifted my head, looking down my nose at her.
“You think you’re scary. You’re not.” Scary was going an entire life without a mom. That was tough. “You think you’re tough. You might be, but you’re not in this situation. Not against me.” I wasn’t mincing words. “You pull that shit, and you’re exiled from Manny’s too.”
“But—” she sputtered.
“You know my brother’s reputation. He sleeps with everyone, and don’t tell me he made you all these sweet promises, because the one thing he isn’t is a liar. He’s no liar. He might be a whiny manwhore at times, but he doesn’t say pretty words to pretty girls that he doesn’t mean. It’s not in his DNA.”
I would know. I share it.
I motioned behind her to the sidewalk that connected our house to Manny’s and the empty alley that went past to the parking lot.