Page 74 of Married to Number 22
The latter jabs a finger in my direction.
“You conniving little bitch!”
Twenty-Nine
Aiden
Right.
Well, I haven’t seen John Maybelle in more than ten years.
And even putting aside him calling his sister a bitch, I could take one look at the fucker and know that he’s an asshole.
Screwed up expression.
Ugly ass polo and fucking chinos, for God’s sake.
Giant, ostentatious watch.
Hair that has more product in it than Gray’s does on picture day—and my captain is one of the few guys on the roster who actually takes the time to style his hair for team photos.
Probably because those dumb things are shown on TV over and over again throughout the season.
But Gray taking the time once in a while to do his hair doesn’t mean he wears loafers.
John sure as shit does—and his loafers have fucking tassels on them.
They swing slightly as the dumbass marches my way.
Christ, what an idiot.
“Mom?” I say.
“Um,” she replies, quietly for a change, “is that who I think that is?”
There’s another slam and I tear my gaze from the douche canoe who is Luna’s brother to see that this situation is about to get worse.
Because Luna’s dad is here.
In a three-piece suit, as much crap in his hair as his son, his dress shoes clicking on the pavement as he starts toward us.
“Mom,” I say again, a little sharper this time, knowing that I need to get her to focus.
I see her startle slightly out of the corner of my eye, then feel Luna do the same when I say, “Get Luna inside, yeah? Dad and I will handle this.”
Luna snags my hand, squeezes slightly. “Aiden, I?—”
“You bitch!” John snaps again.
I tug my hand free, plunk it in the middle of the asshole’s chest, stopping him in his tracks—or maybe sending him back a few paces…
Right.
Okay more than afew.
But I don’t have time to worry about some asshole nearly eating shit in my parents’ driveway.
I need to move quickly.
