Page 64 of Tapped

“It’s official. I hate you.”

“You’re not processing your feelings. You’ll get over it and love me again. Maybe you need some flowers too.”

“I’m done.”

“You say you are and you keep talking. You just can’t stop me.”

“When this case is over, I’m putting in for a transfer back to New York. The heat has fried your fucking brain.”

“You can try to break up with me, but when it comes down to it, you won’t be able to.”

“Watch me.”

“I told you no one has ever dumped me. Like, ever.”

“Your wife needs a new playlist, Tay-Tay.”

He barks out a laugh. “Yeah, you got me there.”

My cell vibrates in the cup holder, and despite my stardom on the field as a D1 football god, thoughts of the good doctor have fucked with my reflexes.

Brax tags my phone before I have a chance to.

“Fucker!” I yell.

I reach for it, but he blocks me.

“Who is it?” he demands.

I side punch him from the passenger seat, but he doesn’t care. He plants an open palm on the side of my face and pushes, which gives him the two seconds to read the notification.

We end up throwing punches, but in the process, my cell falls to the floor.

Brax pushes me back and turns his wide eyes on me. “Did that fucking say what I think it said?”

Shit. “Give me my fucking phone.”

He doesn’t reach for it and shakes his head. “You didn’t…”

“Depending on what the hell you’re talking about, no. I probably didn’t.”

His voice booms through the car. “You fucked your target’s wife?”

I exhale. “No, I did not do that.”

“Then why are you acting like a hormonal teenager and why the fuck is she texting your personal cell on a Saturday night?”

“Chill out, man. I didn’t fuck her.” I look out the windshield and add, “I could have, but I didn’t.”

“Shit,” Brax bites.

“Yet,” I amend. “I’m pretty sure it’s going to happen.”

“You’re pretty sure it’s going to happen?” he booms.

I turn back to him. “You’re one to talk. Do I need to remind you how you met your wife?”

“That’s different. We were already married.”

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