Marlowe
Grant swayed in the garage doorway like the floor had personally wronged him, grinning at nothing in particular, and I had maybe three seconds to get between him and King before this entire double life ended over a bottle of cheap whiskey and my cousin's need for attention.
"Grant." I stepped forward fast, angling myself into his line of sight before he could focus properly on anyone else in the room. "What are you doing here."
"Who's asking?" He squinted at me, swaying, clearly working through several layers of drunk before landing on suspicious. "You a prospect? You look like a prospect. Skinny little prospect."
"Finch." I kept my voice low, flat, nothing like my own. "You should head home, man. President doesn't love unscheduled visits."
"President." Grant barked out a laug
