“Yeah, well feel free to leave since, again, you don’t live here, but this won’t take long. Three things.” He holds up his fingers like he’s talking to children. I glance over at Mav as he runs a hand along his tattooed chest where he’s spilled on himself and a trail of alcohol trickles down to his shorts. Okay, maybe we’re more like overgrown toddlers than functioning men. Maverick and I like to have fun, so sue us.
