Brick's attention and care had been sweet but unwarranted. I just needed another sixteen hours of sleep, and I would have been right as rain. Though, I couldn't complain about being waited on. I didn't get them often, but when I did, my migraines usually left me curled up in the cab of my truck, alone. Except for Simon, of course, but he didn't exactly make a good nurse maid. It was nice having someone nearby who gave a damn, so I could focus on defusing the bomb in my brain.
I was, however, slightly annoyed at the snuggling. Okay, so he was warm and smelled good. And he was obviously gorgeous. And apparently sweet when he wasn't intentionally pissing me off. But that was no reason for me to latch onto him like a baby koala.
And I was sure he was never going to let me live it down. That's why I would never speak of it. As far as I was concerned, last night never happened.
"Seriously, Simon?" I whined, dabbing at the wet spot on my leg with a left over fast food napkin that had somehow, thankfully, survived the last garbage purge. "Do you have a bladder infection or are you mad at me for some reason?"
Simon, obviously unapologetic about peeing on my leg, yet again, jumped from my lap to the headrest of the passenger seat and chattered.
"You're not getting any nuts from me, jerk. Take a nap."
I cracked my window, praying that there was a truck stop in the next several miles. We'd been on the road for four hours, the traffic on I-5 blessedly light and fast-flowing. Since I was feeling better, I was starting to get hungry, and I was definitely going to need a shower before the stench of squirrel pee brought on another migraine.
My CB crackled with static just before a familiar and sorely missed voice came across the radio waves. "Hey, Sweet Lips, you out there?"
I smiled even as I made a sound of annoyance and keyed up my mic. "Yeah, Hook Shot, come on. But stop calling me that," I warned my brother, Mickey.
A chuckle and then, "Sorry, Banshee. Couldn't resist."
Banshee was my chosen handle because our dad, also a trucker, now retired, always said that when he was on the road, I'd beg my mom to let me talk to him on the radio. Thing was, when I was around two or three, I didn't do so much talking as I did screaming. Therefore, Banshee was born, and since it was bestowed upon me by my dad, I'd kept it.
"You still following that stage coach of pretty boys around?"
I shook my head at his teasing though he obviously couldn't see me. "Affirmative. Headin' toward Shaky City."
"Banshee, I'm heading that way too. We should meet up," Marshall, my other brother broke in.
All three of us followed in our father's footsteps. We were a truckin' family.
"Roger that, Captain Cas." I hadn't seen either of my brothers in several months, and I missed them terribly, even if they constantly razzed me about touring with Wasted Breath. But, honestly, if they weren't at least moderately annoying, were they even brothers?
"Sweet Lips, are you making plans to see some other dude?"
My eyes widened at the voice that had absolutely no business being on my airwaves. "Brick," I bit out. "Where did you get a CB?"
"I have my ways. Now answer my question."
"Banshee, who's this joker?" Mickey barked.
"Calm down, Hook Shot. And, Captain Cas, before you even say anything, you calm down, too."
"Sounds like a love triangle to me!" Burly Burt, another trucker I'd talked to but had never met interjected with a guffaw.
"Sweet Lips-"
"Brick! I swear to GOD, get off the radio, right now! And the rest of you shut up!" I slammed the mic back into place just as my phone rang.
I hit the button on my Bluetooth ear piece and snapped, "What?"
"Easy, little sister."
I blew out a breath. I wasn't mad at Mickey, I was mad at Brick. He had no business being on the radio and calling me out. Where the hell did he even get a CB from? The bus driver? My brothers gave me a hard enough time as it was, they didn't need Brick's ridiculous behavior adding fuel to the fire. "Sorry, Mick."
"Forgiven. Now, tell me about this Brick."
I rolled my eyes, inadvertently catching sight of Simon hanging upside down from the grip bar over the passenger side window. I bet that made an interesting sight for any passing vehicles. "Brick is the bassist for the band. He's..." I hesitated to reveal too much but figured it probably didn't matter at this point. I was already doomed to suffer Mickey and Marshall's teasing. "He's sort of got a crush on me," I mumbled.
I could practically hear my brother's smirk. "Of course he does. You're a Morrison. We're babes."
I snorted at his lack of modesty. "Well, I'm a babe. You and Marsh are more like ogres."
"Oh!" he jeered, his New England accent in full effect. The three of us had traveled so much that we'd all but lost the trademark inflection of our hometown of Boston. Nowadays, it only came out when we were drinking, tired, or doing it on purpose.
"Alright, princess. Listen, if you meet up with Marsh this week, remind him he owes me fifty bucks."
"For what?"
"He bet me he could get a second date with his current flavor of the month. He didn't. I won."
Poor Marsh. He wasn't a player, he was just notorious for having really bad first dates. If any of these girls gave him a real chance, I was sure he'd sweep them off their feet. He just gets really nervous meeting women, which leads to awkward situations and ultimately disastrous dates. I think most of these girls said yes to a date in the first place because Marsh is a good looking guy. Okay, so Mickey wasn't kidding when he said we Morrisons are babes. But when Marsh actually sits down to get to know these girls...well, let's just say that he is far more than meets the eye, and these girls are too blind to see a good thing when they have it. Their loss.
I sighed. "Take it easy on him, will ya? You know he's sensitive about it."
"Don't you worry 'bout Marshall. He can handle it."
I scoffed. "I'm sure he can, but he shouldn't have to. We don't pick at your insecurities."
"I don't have any insecurities," he denied.
"Your college basketball career is still an open wound."
"Shut up."
Direct hit. "Stop betting on Marsh's love life."
"Fine. You win.”
I celebrated my victory by pulling the cord for the air horn.
"I heard that," Mickey grumbled, albeit goodnaturedly.
I was about to deliver another smart remark when I caught sight of a highway sign indicating there was a rest area ahead. I wanted to wash my leg free of squirrel pee and put on some clean pants. "Hey, Mick, I gotta go."
"Alright. Keep it shiny side up, kid."
"Roger that. You too." I ended the call, pulling the ear piece out and tossing it in the cup holder along with the pilfered hotel pens and assorted hair ties.
I followed Wasted Breath's tour bus for another four and a half miles before spotting the exit I needed and pulling onto the off ramp. My phone immediately lit up with another call. I ignored it, needing my attention focused on the maneuvering of my rig as I followed the horseshoe-shaped exit and pulled into the parking lot across the two-lane road.