Page 85 of Charming Like Us

Jack hears the commotion under the shady white tents, and he takes off with me as I sprint towards the fight. “Jesse!” he yells at his brother, camera gripped tight. “JESSE!”

I click my mic and speak as I run. “Oscar to Security, I’m handling the fight—don’t send anyone else.” Last thing Jack needs is to have security all over his little brother’s ass.

A douchebro shoves Jesse in the chest, and Jesse shoves him back. They push each other and yell a few more times, and right when we reach the tent, both boys thrust each other into the table. Water jugs fall and spill, paper cups litter the ground. The crowd cheers on the douchebro, and the teenagers wrestle on the grass. Neither throws a punch, and I grip the douchebro beneath the armpits and wrench him off Jesse.

I growl out, “Come on—”

“Grow a fucking funny bone, bitch!” He’s still yelling at Jesse, even as I drag him back.

“Grow afuckingbrain, ass-clown!” Jesse shouts hotly, trying to charge forward. Jack puts a hand on his chest and restrains him.

“Cool off, breathe,” Jack coaches. “Hey—Jesse.” He forces him from rushing at the douchebro, and I’m doing the same to the other teenager.

“I need everyone to exit the tent!” I shout at the gawking teenagers. “Now!”

“He started it!” a few yell and point at Jesse.

“Exit the tent,” I say with threat and force. “Now.I’m not fucking around.” Intimidation on point, the teens take the hint and shuffle out, leaving a broken plastic table and litter in their wake.

While Jack talks to his brother under his breath, I interrogate the other teenager.

“What’s your name?” I ask the douchebro and release my tight grip on him.

“Tyson.”

“Last name too.”

He rolls his eyes and then glares at Jesse. “This is allhisfault!”

Look, I don’t know Jack’s little bro that well, but Jesse seems like he has a good heart. And Jack calls him a free spirit. Not a devil or a dickhead.

“Lay off him,” I growl at the teenager. “What’s your last name? I’m not playing around, bro.”

Charges won’t be pressed for a schoolyard shove-fest. I just need to log this down for security, and you bet your ass that I’m remembering his full name so he never invades Jesse’s space again.

“Why aren’t you giving him the third-degree?” Tyson gapes. “I’m telling you,hestarted it! This isn’t fucking fair!”

Jesse huffs and shakes off his older brother’s hold, just to pick up his camera that fell on the grass. He says nothing.

Jack reaches out a consoling hand. “Jesse—”

“I have more B-roll to grab.” He hoists his backpack on his shoulder. “Sorry, Kuya.” Apologies flash in his eyes to his brother before he exits. Not saying what happened.

Jack is about to run after Jesse, but when he reaches the flaps of the tent, an imposing man blocks him.

Aw,shit.

Bad timing has crept upon us again.

The Epsilon lead is here, hands on his radio and hip. A surly soldier, Korean-American, mid-forties and one of the longest-lasting bodyguards—I’ve known Jon Sinclair since I first joined securityyearsago, and his beef with me has annoyingly endured.

“What in the goddamnfuckis going on?” His glare nails onto me, then the douchebro.

“Tyson was just telling me his last name.” My deep voice is all severity. “He was in a fight with another teenager. It’s done and diffused.” I leave out Jesse.

I’m playing favorites.

Is it fair? Yeah,no. Life isn’t fair, and I have intense feelings for the pretty boy with the camera. And if his little brother is in a pickle, I’m going to help get him out.