Losing Hope

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My heart rate is signaling for me to just walk away. Les has reminded me more than once that it’s not my business. She’s never been a brother before, though. She has no idea how hard it is to sit back and not let it be my business. That’s why, right now, this son-of-a-bitch is my number-one priority.

I slide my hands into the back pockets of my jeans and hope to hell I can keep them there. I’m standing behind the couch, looking down at him. I don’t know how long it’ll take him to notice I’m here. Considering the grip he has on the chick straddling his lap, I doubt he’ll notice for a while. I remain behind them for several minutes while the party continues around us, everyone completely unaware that I’m a fraction away from losing my mind. I would take out my phone so that I’d have evidence, but I couldn’t do that to Les. She doesn’t need a visual.

“Hey,” I finally say, unable to contain my silence a second longer. If I have to watch him palm this chick’s breast one more time without a single ounce of respect for his relationship with Les, I’ll rip his fucking hand off.

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