“He’s a good kid but…” His words trail off and I focus on one word. “Kid?” I ask, an uncomfortable feeling filling my gut. “He said he was 25. He’s not… Oh god, he’s not underage is he?” One of those thick brows raises, “25?” The way he lets out an exasperated sigh has me thinking this isn’t the first time he’s sighed over his kid. “Brian’s not underage. But he’s not fucking 25 either.” His hands slide away from mine as he leans back in his seat. “He’s 20.”
