“Three months?” Grant’s eyes narrow as if he’s piecing together a puzzle. “We were in Europe three months ago, and you never mentioned meeting anyone.”
“Why were you in Europe together?” I cut in, unable to prevent another sharp pang of jealousy.
“We weren’t there together, just in the same place at the same time. It was our mutual friend’s wedding, and...” She moves her eyes to Grant, “...I met Colt the day after I came home.” She takes a small bite of her perfectly toasted marshmallow.
It takes less than ten minutes to empty the bucketful of Coronas. Almost everyone’s come to the bonfire, chugging from bottles and toasting marshmallows, so I get up, heading toward the bar for another round.
I have half a mind to order everyone a bottle of the most expensive drink they have, but no matter how much it costs, it won’t put a dent in Grant’s wallet.
With two buckets of beer, I go back to the happy gathering, stopping a few yards short when I spot Addie and Grant away from the crowd.
His fingers are wrapped around her upper arm, and his body language tells me he’s not happy about something.
“Stop pouting, pumpkin. I said I’m sorry a million times already!” Grant says, his voice growing louder. “He’s a nobody. I know you’re teaching me a lesson or some shit, but enough is enough. Send him home.”
I’m there in seconds, dropping both buckets on the sand. “I recall telling you to keep your hands off her,” I say, my hands balled into fists and itching to go. “You don’t know me very well, but I assure you I won’t have the slightest issue with knocking you out. Let.Her.Go.”
With visible annoyance, he loosens his hold on Addie and then drops his hand completely, spinning to face me. “You obviously don’t deal with many people of quality. Lay one finger on me and I’ll sue you for all you’re worth.”
The corner of my mouth twitches. He’s such a fucking cliché. “Of course you will. Since you can’t throw a decent punch to save your life, it’s your only line of defense.”
If he had some common sense, he’d realize what I’m doing. But he must’ve left his common sense back in England because his holier-than-thou attitude switches on the flip of a dime, the provocation working a treat. He winds his elbow back, then—like a coward—rams his fist into my stomach.
It wasn’t easy letting him land that punch. My instincts wanted me to grab his fist, twist his arm back and make him bite the sand, but that’d defeat the purpose.
Addie gasps, covering her mouth as her father jumps in to pull her away from us. It’s been years since I was in a fight. I used to walk around with black eyes or split lips every weekend back in high school, but fighting gets less and less entertaining as the years go by.
Not tonight, though. Tonight it’s mighty entertaining.
Rolling my sleeves up, I smile at Grant, knowing damn well it’ll work like a red rag to a bull.
“Now it’s self-defense,” I say, and the blow I send his way hits like a lightning bolt.
One.
I don’t spend fifteen hours a week at the gym for nothing.
“Stop!” Addie yells, not at me, but at Grant who’s spitting blood, gearing up to fight back.
Good fucking luck.
He’s a big guy but he lacks experience. It’s clear in the way he holds himself and throws his elbow back that he hasn’t fought much. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s popping his cherry right now.
He ignores Addie, and fully aware of twenty pairs of eyes watching, he sends his fist flying. No technique, so dodging the half-assed punch is child’s play. I step aside, then hammer the side of his face.
Two.
That’s when Addie breaks into a sprint toward the yacht. My first instinct is to follow, but Grant’s getting ready to retaliate again. Stupid prick.
I’m done taking it easy on him. He’s been grating my nerves since he arrived. He should’ve thought twice about laying one finger on Addie.
“Next time I hit you, either your bones will break or your teeth will fall out,” I warn him. “Donotthrow another punch.”
He doesn’t listen. The prospect of the humiliation he’ll face from losing spurs him on. He spits blood onto the sand, righting his stance.
When he’s about to jump into action, Henry steps in.
“That’s enough for one day,” he says with his back to me. “Go get yourself sorted, Grant. You’re making a mess.”
