Just because he’d found the second woman of his heart in Bunny, didn’t mean the entire world was going to fall in love.
Trask crankedthe bandCastle Raton his radio, trying to get lost in the thumping metal while at the same time attempting to calm nerves that he was not used to feeling.
And that, right there, was the problem.
Feelings.
He’d always done a stellar job distancing his sexual dalliances from his emotions, but with one brief encounter, Jett DeLuca had melded the two like they’d been forged together in steel.
That pissed him off.
Still, if he were going to try and turn things around with Jett—and by that, he meant getting her to agree to work for Diver Downeast, per order of his brothers—he was going to have to swallow his pride and make nice.
A slick little sports car chose that moment to run up on Trask’s tail, and before he could move over, the prick had zipped around him, coming close to Trask’s front bumper as he whipped back in front, then the douchebag stepped on his brakes just for annoyance purposes.
Trask growled, leaned on the horn, and flipped the guy off, who gunned it and took off.
So much for controlling his anger.
Although with a few more road-rage encounters, maybe he’d work all the pent-up frustration out of his system.
His phone, paired to his Bluetooth, chose that moment to ring.
“Yeah?” he barked.
It was Spence calling.
“Just checking in to make sure you’re on your way to Portsmouth,” his brother taunted.
“You fucking know I am,” Trask replied sharply. “I heard you talking to Mom on the phone just before I left the house, checking up on me.”
“Yeah, well, knowing you,” Spence snorted, “you might have said screw it, and headed in the opposite direction.”
“I didn’t,” Trask clipped. “I’m doing exactly as you suggested; sucking this up for you and Diver Downeast so we can have a pilot on staff.”
“No. You’re not,” Spence corrected, sharply. “And the sooner you stop telling yourself that, the easier this is going to be. You’re headed to see Jett because the woman confounds and intrigues you, and you have to discover if that’s something you want to pursue.”
“That’s a load of shit,” Trask grunted.
“Hey. Smarten up, will you?” Spence countered. “The problem here isn’t me. It’s you. You’ve never encountered anyone like Jett before, and it pisses you off. But you better playnice with her because I want to meet this paragon who’s got my buttoned-up, big brother all tied into knots.”
“She doesn’t,” Trask argued for argument’s sake.
But Spence was actually spot on. Trask hadn’t felt this off kilter since he’d been young, trying to figure out how to curb his impulsive side to become the son his parents could respect, and the role model he needed to be for his younger brothers.
“Whatever,” Spence returned, effectively ending the conversation. “I’ve got to go. Lunch break is over. They’re trying to get us out of class early before the storm hits.”
“Fine. Go. I’ll let you know when I’m on my way back.”
“Drive safely,” Spence told him before he hung up.
Always, brother,Trask answered in his head.
He’d make sure that no matter how fucked up his thought processes were, and how many sports cars tried to derail him, his truck remained on the road.
“He-ah we ahh,”Jett’s driver let her know when they pulled up to the glass-fronted shop that was home to Diver Downeast.
She would have known it even if the announcement hadn’t been made. Someone—and she assumed it was Trask—had already put a lot of her father’s vintage diving gear in the windows, and it looked great.
