u, Mr. Finance. Alcohol might be a lubricant, but it sure as hell ain’t deodorant.
I need to get laid, yeah, but I’m not desperate enough to do it with a walking beer keg. It’s sad how many people think they suddenly become cool after having a few drinks, or more than a few, in John’s case. Not everyone can be like Cody.
From what I’ve heard back in New York, my stepbrother can drink his own weight in whisky and still keep standing as straight as a soldier in formation. And, although he’s arrogant and annoying, I have to admit that there’s a certain appeal about him.
I wish I had never come here to this bar. I should’ve stayed home and got to know Cody better; I know that he’s my stepbrother, but that’s exactly why I should spend time with him. He’s family, right? Maybe I was too harsh on him. I know all the Manhattan stories—who doesn’t—but do I really know him? No, and that’s because I haven’t given him a chance.
But that’s going to change.
I’m going to leave right now and head home.
“John, I have to go. I enjoyed myself, but I must go home now,” I tell him, and he narrows his eyes slightly. This is going to be harder than I thought; I hope I don’t have to spell it out for him.
“I can drive you home,” he responds after a few seconds of silence, but there’s no way I’m getting inside of a car with him, drunk or not.
“No, that’s fine. Thank you, but --”