Jacked (Trent Brothers #1)(43)

I wasn’t expecting that. “Toxicology? You mean, like poison and drugs and stuff?”

She nodded.

Great. A hot woman who’ll know how to poison me when I piss her off. “Why?”

“Why?”

“Yeah, why? That’s not something everyone aspires to be when then grow up.”

I note her hesitance and the frown of sadness. “It’s personal. I, ah, lost someone once and I want to make sure it doesn’t happen again—to anyone.”

“Understandable. You want to talk about it?”

She shook her head adamantly. “Maybe, one day, with you. Do you mind if that day isn’t today?”

Damn. Someone hurt her. I wanted names, dates, details—NOW. But I couldn’t. I knew she was holding something back, something painful by the looks of it, but I couldn’t push her. There was nothing in her records that said she’d had trouble in the past. “Yeah. That’s fine. If you don’t want to talk about it now, I understand. As long as you don’t have a collection of ex-boyfriends in a mass grave or something in your backyard.”

Her lips twisted. “Not funny. By the way, how’s your back? I may need help digging a new garden.”

I knew she was joking, but I’d be more than willing to bury any f*cker who’d come sniffing around her. “Back’s just fine but my hand is out of commission for a few days though. You may have to hold off your plans for a week or two.”

And just like that she reached across the table, taking my hand in hers to inspect it, tucking in some piece of the wrapping that we both knew was just fine. “Your fingers have good color. It’s not too tight, is it?”

I flexed, enjoying the soft, almost sensual brush of her fingertips creeping under the edge of the bandage. All at once, I was very aware of my dick again. “Nah. It’s perfect. Just glad I wasn’t riding the bike.” I let my fingers close up around hers, testing the waters.

She looked out the window, eyeing the parking lot, while doing a great job ignoring that I was holding her hand. “Bicycle?”

My gaze stayed locked on her. “Motorcycle.” Her little butt wiggled, I suppose thinking about it. “You ever been on the back of a bike?”

Innocently, she shook her head.

“I can fix that, you know.”

And just like that, playful Erin was back. “I bet you can.”

This girl was dangerous to my health. But this hand—this hand I was holding—had a healing touch.

“Whose turn is it?” I asked.

“Yours,” she breathed, pulling her hand back. “I just spent mine asking about your—um—bike.”

For some reason I felt a bit disappointed. “That was hardly a question.”

“No. It’s your turn. I don’t cheat.”

I wondered if she meant something more by that, figuring that statement could cover a lot of areas. Regardless, it was good to know. I watched her struggle for a few seconds trying to open the ketchup bottle. I held out my hand.

“Would you?” she asked, handing it over. “My home fries—oh, wait, your hand.”

I popped the top. “Here you go.”

She met my reach. “Thanks.”

“It’s your turn, Doc.”

She took a moment. “You mentioned you have brothers?”

Relief hit me that it was an easy one. “Yep. Three of them.”

That seemed to surprise her. “Your poor mother.”

“Hah! Yeah, she got a lot of gray hairs from us.”

“You the oldest? Youngest?”

“I’m number two.” She had me hooked deep and I was dying to know. “Seriously, are you dating anyone now?”

“No.” That truth was instant and directed right into my eyes. “I wouldn’t be sitting here with you if I was.”

“That’s good to know.” I had to hide my smile. “Ditto by the way. In case you’re wondering.”

“I was,” she answered honestly. “I find that hard to believe, but thank you for being so forthcoming.”

Visions of me being forthcoming with my tongue in her mouth were dominating all other thoughts of reason. And yet, was she serious? “Why is that hard to believe?”

Her cheeks pinked again. “I would presume it’s sort of obvious,” she muttered.

Now I was completely confused. Did she know about the show? “What is?”

She waved her fork up and down at me, as if she was going head to toe with it. Does she think I f*ck everything that walks?

I was searching for the words to let her know how way off base she was when a wall of blue uniform caught my attention.

Fuck. Not now. Not f*cking now.

Last thing I needed was to deal with Ron Castoll, * cop from my old unit with a chip the size of Montana on his shoulder.

“Morning Trent. What happened to you? Cut yourself on a beer bottle?” Castoll snickered, adjusting the utility belt holding up his fat gut.

I wondered if this arrogant prick remembered that I possessed the skills and knowledge to kill him a hundred different ways with just my bare hands.

Surprised the f*cker hasn’t tasered his own nuts yet. Dipshit.

Didn’t take him long to eye up Erin. Stitches or not, I wanted to punch him in the head just for looking at her, knowing what sort of dirty shit was already flowing through that pea-sized brain of his.