Losing Hope (Hopeless, #2) by Colleen Hoover Read Online (FREE)
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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.
Grayson tears his mouth away from hers and tilts his head back, looking up at me with glossed-over eyes. I can see the fear settle in when it clicks—when he finally realizes that the last person he thought would be here tonight actually showed up.
“Holder,” he says, pushing the girl off his lap. He struggles to his feet but can hardly stand up straight. He looks at me pleadingly, pointing at the girl, who’s now adjusting her barely-there skirt. “This isn’t . . . it’s not what it looks like.”
I slide my hands out of my back pockets and fold my arms across my chest. My fist is closer to him now and I have to clench it, knowing how good it would feel to punch his face in.
I look down to the floor and inhale a breath. Then another. And one more just for show, since I’m really enjoying watching him squirm. I shake my head and raise my eyes back to his. “Give me your phone.”
The confusion on his face would be comical if I weren’t so pissed. He laughs and attempts to back up a step, but bumps into the coffee table. He catches himself by pressing his hand onto the glass and straightens back up. “Get your own fucking phone,” he mumbles. He doesn’t look back at me as he maneuvers his way around the coffee table. I calmly walk around the couch and intercept him, holding out my hand.
“Give me your phone, Grayson. Now.”
I’m not really at an advantage sizewise, since we’re about the same build. However, I’m definitely at an advantage if you take my anger into consideration, and Grayson can clearly see that. He takes a step back, which probably isn’t a very smart move considering he’s backing himself straight into the corner of the living room. He fumbles with his pocket and finally pulls out his phone.