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“It was romantic at the time,” I defend. “Blaire thought so, at least.”

Gears leans forward in his chair, sandwich forgotten. “What made you decide to do that? No offense to Blaire—she’s a pretty woman—but she’s not ‘tattoo her name on your cock’ pretty.”

I shrug. “She was worried about me cheating when I first joined the military. The tattoo seemed like a good gesture of loyalty.”

“Yeah, but then you broke up,” Gears continues, like he’s genuinely trying to solve a puzzle. “So you could’ve gotten handjobs without a fucking condom in the way.”

“I don’t know. It was just a thing. I made a promise and it felt weird to let other women touch me like that.”

“But not weird enough to just stop you from fucking them altogether?”

“Can we please stop talking about Crane’s dick, bush, or urethra?” Maddox cuts in, looking like he’s considering walking into traffic. “Fucking hell. I’ve been tortured in a foreign country and it was more enjoyable than this conversation.”

Gears picks his sandwich back up, still staring at me. “He doesn’t even have a tattoo for our squad and I’ve literally saved his life. I’m just amazed at whatever power Blaire’s pussy holds over—”

“I will undo the fact that I helped you live if you say another word about Blaire.”

My voice comes out ice-cold. Blood feels like it dropped ten degrees in my veins. My vision tunnels on Gears until the rest of the office disappears.

Gears swallows. “Jesus, Crane. I was kidding.”

“Don’t.” I spit out.

Maddox lets out a tired breath. “Alright. That’s enough. Gears, shut the fuck up and eat your egg. Crane, sit back down before you put him through the drywall.”

I drop back into my chair, not aware that I had even left it until now. My pulse is still hammering, but the tunnel vision eases. I drag a hand down my face and turn to my computer.

Maddox turns back to his own computer. “No more murder threats unless they’re aimed at terrorists, please.”

“Got it, boss,” Gears says, already chewing again like nothing happened.

***

I make it to the parking lot before I check my phone again.

Nothing.

Just the same damn “results pending” screen I’ve refreshed every twenty minutes since lunch. I unlock the truck, drop into the seat, and refresh it one more time like that’s going to make a lab somewhere work faster.

Still nothing.

I start the engine, jaw tight, still refreshing the page with my free hand.

I’ve been rock fucking hard all day thanks to Blaire’s constant sexting. I wasn’t aware teachers had that much downtime—especially not enough to send novel-length descriptions of what they want done to them the second these results come back clean. If Blaire ever decided she didn’t want to be an English teacher anymore, she’d have a real shot at those smutty romance books. Filthy, specific, grammatically perfect. She used a semicolon in the middle of telling me how she wanted me to use her like she was nothing but a warm hole for me to dump my cum into. A semicolon. Meanwhile I was sitting in a briefing with my dick trying to punch through my uniform.

I shift in the seat, grimacing, and pull out of the lot as I check my phone one last time.

Blaire Thomas

On my way to get Theo.

Still nothing?

If I refresh this thing one more time they’re going to think I’m trying to hack the lab.

Hack the lab and I’ll consider adding anal to the line up.

I almost run a stop sign.