“I mean, maybe then she literally just likes you for your body.” Whitman shrugs.
“That’s not a bad take,” Salinger says, swirling his drink in his hand.
Crawford knocks back the Bud Light.
“Why are you drinking that? We don’t sell that here.”
“Brought it from home,” my half brother states. “I don’t trust any alcohol that costs half a month’s pay for a tiny glass.”
“To be fair, it also has really nice ice.” McCarthy pokes his ice with his straw.
“You can take the white trash out of the compound…” I mutter.
“Oh yeah?” Crawford pulls out a knife and pokes at the ice in McCarthy’s glass, then quick as a scorpion’s tail, he jabs the blade down, and the ice explodes.
“Hey! You ruined my scotch!”
“I bet Winnie moves on to Crawford when she’s tired of you.” Faulkner smirks.
“What? She wouldn’t.”
“To be fair, he lives up to the promise of the violent stalker,” Salinger adds.
“Yeah, you really sold her a bill of goods.”
My brothers chirp at me.
“Does she know how much money you waste online shopping in a month?”
“It’s not a waste. All the stuff I buy goes to good use. Shit, I have a room full of Legos for Christmas.”
“Hunter’s really going to like to hear that.”
“It’s a free country.” Crawford sips his beer calmly. “Like you said, she’s an adult woman. She’s cute.”
“What are you going to do, lock her in your sex dungeon?” My brothers howl in laughter.
I kick McCarthy’s chair out from under him, and he crashes to the floor as Salinger curses at me.
“I’m banning you all from football games for the rest of the year.”
“Fuck no! I have investors I need to take,” Hawthorne complains.
“I’ll help you go wedding ring shopping,” McCarthy offers.
“Why does everyone think I need help ring shopping?”
“I don’t know. That painting is ugly as sin.” Whitman nods.
“He spent almost a million dollars on it. Can you believe it?” Saligner shakes his head.
On the table, my phone rings.
“I’ll get it. Don’t touch my—”
Faulkner hits the green button and presses the phone to his ear.
“Give it—”
