CHAPTER TWO
TRINA
Flirting. I wasn’t flirting.
I don’t flirt.
He’s such an idiot. Every single time I see that man, he pushes my buttons and I end up playing our conversation over and over in my head.
All night long.
Sometimes for days.
He’s lucky I don’t have his phone number, or I swear we would be in some twenty-four seven text argument. God, can you imagine living with a man like Marshall? Everything is a joke.
If he tells me one more damn time that he’s a Green Beret...
Who cares?
He’s just a soldier.
But thank you for your service, etc. Goddamn it, that’s embedded in my DNA to immediately say.
The thing is, unlike other women who are impressed with a man in uniform, I grew up with them. Thousands of them! Yes, I was a military brat.
Hence my dirty mouth and directness.
My mother tried; she really did.
So, Marshall can keep his stupid grins and antics to himself. They don’t—and won’t—work on me.
He’s just making an idiot of himself.
Proof in point: I had to pick Briar up from the Black Hawke Security office one day and Marshall was in the parking lot. When he saw me, he leaned his ass against the side of his car, winked, then lifted his arm, rolled up his sleeve, and pumped his enormous bicep.
What a dick.
While I tried not to react to the sexy tattoos wrapped around his muscular arm, I couldn't help the way my thighs clenched and core heated. My entire body temperature rose.
“Christ, he has huge arms.” Briar giggled, putting on her seatbelt.
“Big ego. Small dick.” I muttered and put the car into drive, then planted my foot on the gas and leaned out the window to give him the bird.
“Put it away!” I yelled as the idiot smirked.
“I think he likes you,” Briar shared.
What?
I’d literally choked on my own saliva. Coughing, I’d had to down half my water bottle when we stopped at an intersection.
“Briar, he doesn’t like me. Marshall fucks everything that walks.”
It was true...as far as I knew.
“Total playboy. No thank you.”
Although, what I would never tell a single soul was that at night, when my vibrator roared to life, it was Marshall that I imagined crouching between my legs licking my pussy.
His large cock that stretched my entrance and filled me while he yanked on my ponytail and then slammed into me.
God, the orgasms that man has unknowingly given me.
I tried to sleep with a man I dated recently. Complete fail. He had his hands inside my panties rubbing away and while, sure, I was wet, it wasn’t getting even close to climax.
“Suck me off.” He then told me.
I wasn’t impressed but by this point I was ready for it to be over, so I dropped to my knees while he unzipped.
Confession: In my fantasies Marshall’s cock is tattooed. It’s not completely clear to me what the design is, but when I came face-to-face with...well, something less than my imagination...yeah, I felt a little uninspired.
My eyes lifted to his and I think we both knew at that point that things weren’t going well.
Then life intervened.
Thank god.
My fire alarm went off, and he left.
I felt immediate relief but then irritation that Marshall had destroyed my night. Without even being there.
That’s how annoying he is.
I should not be fantasizing about a man like him. With an imaginary tattooed cock.
What if he does though?
And after he has flirted with me, Marshall has the audacity to chat up other women. What I said to Briar is true. He’s a playboy and his typical Californian blond hair coupled with a Texan drawl has women dropping at his feet.
So sickening.
Do they have no pride?
When Briar had gone quiet that day, I couldn’t help glance over at her in question.
“What?”
“Does he though? I know he gets a ton of attention.” She shrugged. "I'm just not sure he acts on it."
I’d gasped in horror.
Did she not see him lift that woman over his shoulder the week earlier? She might have been trying to get close to Savannah, but I would put money on him getting her phone number.
“Of course he does. I mean, look at him. Blond, six foot one thousand, and those stupid blue eyes.”
Briar snorted. “Six foot one thousand isn’t a measurement.”
Fine.
“Well, he’s tall. Stupid tall. Who’s that tall? It’s ridiculous.” I’d clenched the steering wheel tightly, knowing how dumb I sounded, but that was how much Marshall Adams unraveled me.
It infuriated me how he could get under my skin without barely doing anything.
Well, except breathing.
I wish he’d stop doing that.
“WHAT?” I snapped when Briar didn’t reply again.
“Do you...like him?” she asked carefully, lifting her brows.
I gasped dramatically a second time. “Like him? Briar, I can’t stand the guy. He’s a giraffe. And I hate blue eyes.”
Silence again as I stared back and forth, like a crazy person, between Briar and the road.
“You have blue eyes,” she finally says.
Damn her.
What kind of friend doesn’t go along with you when you’re clearly having a mental breakdown?
“Exactly. I can hardly fuck someone with the same colored eyes as me,” I muttered, losing steam.
“That doesn’t make any sense," she continued.
I knew I was running out of arguments, and she did too.
“You’re being ridiculous. At best he’s six foot six. And Marshall is a very good-looking man.” Briar shakes her head.
“I thought you loved Aidan?” I snapped, attempting to end this uncomfortable Trina likes Marshall discussion that was causing me to dig myself deeper into a hole.
I don’t.
That was all that mattered.
Yes, I was aware he was flirting with me and found me attractive. I’m a beautiful and confident woman. No point in pretending I’m average. I’m not.
Like Marshall, I could hit a bar and pick up someone to spend the night with.
It’s different when it’s someone in your friend circle. Unfortunately, that’s the situation we are in. He works for, and is friends with, Briar’s, Savannah’s, and Cassy’s husbands. Well Briar and Aidan aren’t yet married, but with twins on the way they will be soon after.
Let me spell out what would happen if I decided to go digging and discover if that tattoo exists.
First...one hell of an orgasm. I have zero doubts about that.
Then I’d spend the rest of my life watching that admittedly gorgeous man-whore sleep with the rest of the female population.
No. Thank. You.
Anyway, I don’t sleep with men in uniform. It is a rule. One I set many years ago.
“Marshall is just being playful. Give him a break,” Briar had responded.
“Playful.” I snorted as if the idea was completely unreasonable. “Alice should sleep with him. She could do with a good rogering.”
Briar sprayed water across my dashboard, then lowered her bottle. “Rogering?”
“It’s a British expression. I’m reading a new author. It means—”
“Yeah, I get it. Alice might not—”
“She needs a good fucking and you know it. The fun box is meant to be used, not protected like the crown jewels.”
More British references. I’m currently reading a steamy historical romance and my god, it’s horny as hell.
“Fun box?” Briar shook her head. “Where do you come up with all these names?”
I smirked as I hit the turn signal and rounded the corner.
“It’s a god-given talent, Briar. Anyway, how’s your sex life? Tell me all the details. What’s Aidan’s favorite position?”
“Nope.”
“Come on! I bet he’s a doggy style kind of guy.”
She glared at me, but my tactic was working.
“Anal? Hope he has good lube. You need a good brand otherwise it causes—”
“Trina!”
Mission completed.
Seriously, I don’t know why these girls try to mess with me. I can talk my way in and out of a guy’s locker room with more ease than...well, a perfectly lubed cock.
Growing up in a man’s world will do that.
So, yeah, I know all about men like Marshall. I have zero interest in being the next notch on his well-dented headboard. Or the latest chick his eyebrows wiggle at while his buddies ask how good it was.
I’ll tell them how I am. Fucking good. I’d be the best lay he ever had. But he won’t have me.
Ever.
Which, I’ll admit, is a shame. The man has a body that’s sculpted like a god.
He’s ripped off his shirt enough times while I’ve been present, and I’ve seen his eight pack and that elusive V that leads down to what I call the pits of hell.
Which I might’ve said out loud.
“Stairway to heaven, darlin’,” Marshall drawled and winked at me in response.
“Heaven is up, idiot.”
“Is it, though?” He lifted a brow and both Ryder and Josh burst out laughing.
Then he helped lift the pool table, taking the entire end by himself and holy motherfucker, his back muscles bulged, and I couldn’t drag my eyes away.
He knew.
Without missing a beat, Marshall turned right around and smiled like it was Christmas, looking me right in the eye.
Busted.
I snapped my mouth closed and walked out of the room. Only then did I wipe the drool from my mouth.
I really need to stop hanging out at the Black Hawke office with the girls. Marshall will give up eventually and find someone else to play with.
They all do.
I spot Jason Momoa as I walk through the crowd and consider introducing myself. I didn’t really talk to him earlier.
I have nothing to talk to him about.
So how about that Moana movie, hey? Also, your biceps are nearly as big as guy I’m trying to avoid. What are the chances?
Smoothing my hands down my dress, I head toward the restrooms, soaking up all the celebrities around me. Being here tonight to support Savannah, who’s become a close friend, is amazing, but even with all my confidence, Hollywood is very intimidating.
These people sparkle from everywhere. Their teeth, their eyes, their nails...heck, their nipples probably glow.
I spent the entire day at the spa having my va-jay-jay polished and all the bits waxed. My toes are a shiny gold to go with my dress and my nails are sporting a classic French manicure with Swarovski crystals.
Fuck, I hope one doesn’t fall off.
I smile at one of the stars who recently won an Emmy as she holds the restroom door open for me and promise myself I will ignore Marshall’s taunts for the rest of the night.
But who am I kidding? My vibrator is going to get a big workout. The guy looks hot as sin in his tuxedo.
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MARSHALL
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