Page 61 of All Yours

Adrian bolted out the door first, followed by me, Eden, and Finn. We stood on one of the three bridges leading from the boardwalk to the building. We located the men in the water off the side of Lou’s. They were still splashing around in the water, entangled in the brawl. Going overboard did nothing to quell the tussle.

“Stop it,” Adrian barked, with neither man paying him any attention. “Shit.” Adrian turned and marched back into the bar.

“You two stop and get out of there now,” I called, also to no avail. They continued their swim wrestling match, floating away from Lou’s toward the marina.

“What is going on?” Lauren asked, appearing behind us.

“I’ve died and gone to hell. That can be the only explanation for what is happening,” I said.

“Is that Jonah?” Lauren asked.

“And Sebastian Sinclair,” Eden added.

“Holy shit,” Lauren said. “Is it over you?”

“It’s more of a male pride thing,” I muttered. My stomach tied into a knot as cameras flashed away behind us.

Then Adrian appeared at my side with a weird looking gun with a large bulb on the top.

“Is that a paintball gun?” Eden asked.

“Yep,” he said and fired off a shot toward the fighting men still splashing around.

“Oh my god. Where did you get that?” Eden called.

“People are watching,” I hissed.

“You come up with another way to stop them, then.”

“You might hurt Jonah,” I said.

“It’ll just sting a little bit,” he said, firing off a few more paint balls in their direction until the men swam away from each other.

“You can’t shoot them with that. They’re not wearing any protective gear,” Lauren said.

“Give it to me then. I’ll shoot them,” I said.

Adrian ignored us and continued firing into the water near them.

“Hey,” Jonah yelled.

“What the hell was that?” Sebastian called.

Both men swam toward the dock, but Adrian kept firing.

Jonah pulled himself up onto the dock, coughing and spitting. Sebastian climbed up next.

“Are you shooting us with paint balls?” Jonah called.

“Yep,” Adrian said, and shot him again, red paint splattering across his chest.

“Son of a bitch,” Jonah yelled, bending over. “That hurt.”

I ran from the bridge around the patio seating and down the boardwalk to the marina to get to Jonah. That he would behave like that in public was unconscionable.

“Are you okay?” I huffed, running up to him. Jonah hobbled up to me soaking wet and a splatter of red paint front and center on his shirt.

“I’m fine,” he coughed.

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