#Junkie (GearShark #1)(50)

“What the f*ck is going on?” Trent asked, cutting into the movie playing in my mind.

“I could ask you the same thing,” I growled over my shoulder.

He was sitting in the backseat, Joey in the front with me. I felt her stare between us, and I wondered what she was thinking.

I had enough shit to think about right now.

“I thought you were driving tonight.” Trent went on after a brief pause. “On the other side of town.”

“Thought I’d be occupied, did you?” I snapped, the fuse inside me growing a little bit hotter.

“What?” I heard the bewilderment in his tone, and it made me even madder. I punched down on the gas pedal, and the car shot forward with a loud growl.

“We were driving,” Joey explained, turning sideways in the seat so she could glance in the back. “Things got a little… heated, and we ended up in a car chase.”

“Jesus,” Trent muttered, his voice close. The back of my neck prickled with his nearness. He was leaning up between the seats so he could hear Joey better. “Why didn’t you call me?”

I barked out a harsh laugh. “Would you have answered?”

“Are you f*cking serious right now, Drew?” Trent bit out.

He was getting mad. Good.

Asshole.

“We were a little too busy to call,” Joey answered as if there were no electric undercurrents practically vibrating the car.

I felt Trent’s hand grip the side of my seat and tug, like he was using it as leverage to lean around and stare out the back window. “Are you still being followed? Maybe we should get off the road.”

“I lost them. They’re gone,” I said.

The seat jostled a bit again when he turned back around to face the front. “They could still be out looking.”

I shrugged one shoulder. “Probably. But we were in the bar for a few before we met up with you and left. They’re likely on the other side of town by now.”

“You were at the bar for a while?” he asked low.

Ah.

The first hint of guilt finally broke into his tone.

What is it you didn’t want me to see… friend?

Another flashback of Trent at the bar with the man stole over my vision.

Trent’s arms were on the bar. He was leaning sideways, tilting close to the man beside him so he could hear whatever was being said.

The man he was with, a total tool, was totally buying whatever T was selling. He was dressed in a freaking flannel shirt, a pair of jeans, and boots a lumberjack would own.

And his hair…

Dear God, his hair.

It was in a man bun.

I know I didn’t bother to style mine much, but any guy who took the time to comb it up into a freaking bun on top of their head…

Might as well pack their shit and go live in the forest off granola for the rest of their life.

A freaking man bun.

Ivy would call this dude a lumbersexual.

I called him lame.

I relived the moment lame ass turned sideways on the stool, bringing his body around to face Trent. I felt like it was happening for the first time all over again when I recalled the way he leaned in, acting like the place was so loud he had to do it to be heard.

It wasn’t that goddamn loud.

He was totally just looking for an excuse to get into Trent’s space.

And then it happened. He leaned in so far his chest brushed up against T’s shoulder.

Trent didn’t pull away. He dropped his hands down onto the flat surface of the bar and leaned in, bringing himself even closer to the man bun-wearing, granola-eating lame-o.

He was so close his ear almost touched the man’s lips.

“Watch out!” Joey’s high-pitched screech and the feel of the Mustang jerking shook me from the memory.

Bright headlights blinded me, and I squinted as the Mustang swerved around an oncoming truck. My reflexes were top notch, and I recovered in mere seconds and had the Fastback straight on the road in no time.

My heart was thundering so loud it was all I could hear, despite the fact I knew Trent and Joey were exclaiming about my distracted driving.

I slowed the car a little and looked down. Trent’s large hand was wrapped around the right side of the steering wheel.

That explained the jerking motion of the car just as Joey started screaming. He’d totally just stopped the Mustang from crashing head on into an oncoming car.

A breath shuddered from my chest, and my back hit the seat completely. “Fuck,” I muttered quietly.

I’d been so wrapped up in what happened back there I almost got us all killed.

Good going, Forrester. Good going.

“You straight?” Trent said, his voice right beside my ear.

Goose bumps broke out over the back of my neck and raced down my spine. I nodded and gripped the wheel even tighter.

His palm slid down the side of the wheel until his hand brushed against mine. “Hey, you want me to drive?”

His touch didn’t shake me. Maybe it should have.

Yeah, it definitely should have.

It felt good. It felt right. It calmed me down.

“I’m good now. Sorry,” I said, my words hoarse.

The pad of his thumb brushed across the back of my hand before his arm disappeared back into the backseat.

Deep down inside my jeans, my ball sack tingled.