Jacked (Trent Brothers #1)(25)
“It’s a bra,” I muttered.
Marcus pegged me with a “thanks Captain Obvious” glare. He palmed it like he was squeezing a boob.
“C?” he questioned privately, apparently wanting confirmation.
With a quick flick of my fingers, he handed it over. I gave it a quick feel, measuring how it filled my hand. “D. Thirty-six.”
“Color?”
I shrugged, noting it was February thirteenth today. “Red.”
MARCUS MOTIONED FOR the keys to our rig—the black Suburban. It had great heated leather seats that cut the cold right out of the February chill. “I’m driving.”
I tossed the set and smiled to myself, knowing how much he hated working the onboard computer system. I slid into the passenger seat. “You know, it’s okay to admit you need reading glasses, old man.”
Marcus gave me his death glare. “Watch your mouth, Trent. I only got you by three years.”
I clicked my seatbelt, smiling while ignoring his exaggerated annoyance. “Yeah, but you’re still closer to forty.”
“Boy, are you looking to upset me? We just took a hundred and thirty off them *s, so let me enjoy my moment. And I was going to buy you dinner, too.”
Fucking guy made me laugh. “That’s mighty kind of you.”
“Just call me Mister Generosity. So tell me… how the f*ck you know it was red?”
I shrugged. “It’s a gift.”
“Fucking-A right, it’s a gift. You need to play the damn Lotto is what you need to do with how much tit you’ve palmed.”
I grinned to myself, briefly, before the other dirt clogged my thoughts. Getting a willing woman underneath me was never a problem, but the last few months I’d been on a self-induced hiatus. I needed to get my shit together, as getting drunk and trying to f*ck the last one out of my system wasn’t working. And ever since we started filming, enamored girls making a goal to f*ck the cop from TV turned from easy pickings to a huge turn-off.
Somewhere over the course of the rolling seasons what used to be cute and attractive became extremely annoying. Everything had become extremely annoying. “You gonna turn the heat up, or do I need to freeze my nuts off over here?”
He leered at me. “Damn, boy. You are worse than my wife.”
I buckled my seatbelt. “Speaking of which, you’d better stop by the store for a gift for Cherise before you take your mangy ass home tonight.”
I turned on our equipment, getting myself situated while Ritchie, my cameraman shadow, climbed into the back seat with his gear.
“Hey guys,” Ritchie mumbled, rubbing his cold hands together. “Damn, it’s a cold one tonight.”
Scott climbed in on the other side, grumbling at Ritchie to move his shit.
Marcus glared over at me, ignoring them like we usually do, and drove out of the back lot. “What the f*ck I need a gift for?”
“Tomorrow’s Valentine’s Day, butthead.” I jerked forward when he crushed the brake.
“No shit?”
I started typing in the plate of the car that just passed by, driving a bit too fast. “And this is why your wife’s legs are closed for business.”
Marcus grit his teeth at me, motioning with his eyes for me to shut it while Ritchie was filming from the back seat. We even had extra mini cameras mounted in the front by the doors to catch every moment.
“Ritchie…” I snapped.
I heard him sigh. “I know, I know. If that airs, you will skin me alive and piss on my carcass. I got it.”
Marcus and I both said “yep” in unison.
After twenty minutes of driving and scanning random license plates, Marcus broke the silence, muttering, “See your feisty little doc lately?”
I knew he was just jacking me up about following her home this morning. Still, I was thankful that I had a fresh image of her face to think about rather than the repercussions of our monumental f*ck-up losing that stolen Nissan. I shook my head once, trying not to think about it.
Marcus raised a skeptical eyebrow at me, calling me out on my shit.
“Car was still in the driveway,” I muttered, conceding only so far. Okay, so I drove past her place on my way to work tonight. It wasn’t really out of my way, considering she lives in the same town. But admitting I went in a big loop to get to the station was all he was going to get out of me.
Smug prick blinded me with his big, white teeth, grinning because he knew me so well. It was in my nature to check up on things; I couldn’t help it. I wasn’t some sick stalker, not like the chick who tagged my windshield wiper with a semi-naked photo of herself and a phone number the other day.
“Robin in the hood,” he drawled, jacking me up again. “Defending the helpless maidens. Well, it’s a step. ’Bout time you quit lickin’ your wounds and get back on your damn horse.”
And that was Marcus’s version of a pep talk. Something told me that that little doc was the opposite of helpless, but it was that something, that unknown pull that had me driving down her street, making me itch to know if she was at home, if she was safe.
Whatever that something was also had me palming myself in the shower earlier, too. Every time I thought about her I got hard. Out of sheer pain and a desire for some restful sleep, I couldn’t take it anymore. I had to relieve myself.