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“Yeah, but adjusting your dick is not, unless there was something dirty on that phone,” he retorted, then reached for my phone. “Let me see.”
I yanked my hand back, shoving my phone back in my pocket. “There was nothing dirty on the phone. She just said it was her first day of school.”
“Yeah, I always adjust my dick when a woman tells me she went back to work,” Thumper retorted.
“I would,” Slider nodded. At Thumper’s glare, he shrugged. “What? Hot teacher. Who hasn’t had that fantasy?” He turned and jerked his head at me with a grin. “Does she wear her hair up? What about glasses?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t seen her in work clothes yet.”
“There was this one teacher—Mrs. Ripple,” Slider grinned. “Man, she wore her hair up in a tight bun and had these thick, black glasses. The fantasies I had about her—” He blew out a breath, getting lost in his own world. “And those skirts…They were so fucking tight.”
“That’s great,” I snapped. “Why don’t you put thoughts in my head about teenagers ogling their hot teacher!”
“Hey, I’m just saying, she’s hot and any horny teenager is gonna wanna hit that.”
I slammed my fist into his face before I could think better of it. The last thing I wanted to think about was some punk jacking off in the school bathroom to fantasies about the woman I wanted. Not that I had any right to talk since I was always jacking off to fantasies about her. But the difference was that I wasn’t a horny teenager.
“Ow! What the fuck, man?”
“Just keep your thoughts of jacking off to yourself.”
He rubbed his jaw, glaring at me. “You know, you could handle this like a normal guy and hit the kid instead of the messenger.”
“Right, because normal men go around beating up kids,” I retorted.
“Oh, my God!” Thumper shouted. “Would you two shut the fuck up? Jesus, we’re on a job and you two are focused on your dicks.”
He was right, even though I didn’t want to admit it. I turned back to my computer and focused on the job. On the video, I could see IRIS slipping into the basement as planned. He tore off the coveralls he wore to disguise himself while he made his way over to the workstation in the basement of the building.
“Alright, IRIS is in,” I informed them.
“IRIS, what do you see?” Thumper asked, switching to comms.
“A lot of shit. Fuck, this guy is sloppy. I bet he’s never been to Home Depot. They could have given him some organizational tools. Like maybe a fucking toolbox or a shelving unit.”
“What about the supplies?” Thumper asked, his patience growing thin. “Any signs that he’s stealing?”
“You seriously want an answer to that based on the shit laying around down here? You’d need an inventory list before I could even think about answering that.”
Thumper growled in irritation. “Check the closet behind you.”
I watched as IRIS turned, shoving boxes aside to get to the closet through the sea of crap, grumbling the whole time about breaking his neck.
“It’s locked,” he said as he tried to open the door.
Thumper hung his head, not that IRIS could see. “Well, you’re intelligent and dismantle bombs for a living. I’m sure something as simple as a lock won’t stop you.”
IRIS turned toward the camera and shoved his middle finger high in the air. “You’re an asshole today. Any chance Bree is gonna have that baby sometime soon?”
“Fuck you,” Thumper shot back. He ran his hand over his face. The stress lines of the past few months were growing more pronounced with every day. But that wasn’t a surprise given that Bree’s pregnancy had been decidedly difficult. She almost miscarried twice and was put on bedrest for the last two months. The only reason Thumper was out on a job was because Cash knew he needed the break to clear his head.
IRIS bent down in front of the door and got to work on the lock. I flipped through the screens, checking the other feeds when something caught my attention.
“Uh, IRIS, you might want to hurry up. The old man is returning.”
The old man being the douche we were spying on, trying to figure out if he was stealing from the company.
“Hold on. I think I hear something.” IRIS pressed his ear to the door. Even from this angle, I could see his face pinched in concentration. “Fuck,” he swore, getting back to work on the lock.
