“Ugh! How long do we have to sit here?”
Zander’s constant whining makes me want to put a bullet through his skull, or maybe even my own at this point. We've been doing this shit for years. Recon might be something we do less of nowadays, but we all know if the boss says we do it, then we do it. So how is it possible he can still whine about it this much?
I think he just likes to hear himself talk.
Spencer sits in the backseat, looking all but bored as he reclines in the seat with his legs kicked up on my center console– regardless of how often I tell him to keep those fucking things off the leather.
Spencer never cares, not really.
Very rarely, he will sink into something so profound that he doesn’t come out for a while; those times are far and few between. For the most part, he’s as laid back as they come.
Everything about him screams relaxed in a way that used to set me on edge when we were younger.
His wardrobe consists primarily of jeans and t-shirts, most of which have seen better days. Paired with whatever shoes he grabs, some days it's sneakers, others its boots. I’m not even sure if he looks at what he picks.
Tonight he skipped his regular leather jacket and picked a simple black hoodie. It swallows him in size. If I had to guess, I would assume that’s why he chose it, comfort. It does a good job of masking his size, though, which is impressive since he’s not exactly a small guy. Without his tight t-shirt to show it, you wouldn’t know he’s got as much muscle as he does under there. I might almost believe that’s why, if I for one moment thought he put any thought into his appearance, yet I knew better.
He couldn’t care less about his appearance, other than his hair, although even that gets minimal effort. His dark blonde hair is closer to brown nowadays, though it used to be light when we were kids.
He has an undercut. His sides are short, the top long, falling just above his ear. Though he allows the top to be shaggy most days, he occasionally will style it when the situation calls for it.
Today it didn’t.
Recon doesn’t scream dress to impress to anyone but me, it would appear. So in typical Spencer fashion, he probably only finger-combed it, just enough to ensure it’s not sticking straight up.
He fucking hates that.
It works for us. Zander is our energetic one, Spencer is our chill, and I keep us all on task so we don’t end up dead. I don’t know how I got saddled with that responsibility. It feels like bullshit if you ask me, but it’s been this way for as long as I can remember, and it’s gotten us this far.
I roll my eyes and decide to ignore the pair of them, instead keeping watch on this stupid building like we were ordered to. Unfortunately, someone has to do it, and apparently, I’m the only one who doesn’t have a death wish tonight.
“You better cool it, Zan. Rick looks like he’s seconds away from making your face have a very intimate conversation with the windshield tonight.” Spencer gives a dry chuckle at the thought, and while my idea was a little more violent, I don’t correct him. I may threaten to kill both of them almost daily, but we all know I wouldn’t.
Well, we know I wouldn’tmostof the time. Putting his head through the windshield, though, now that I could get behind.
I feel my lip twitch in what I’m sure is an unsettling smile as I flick my attention to the rearview mirror, my eyes catch Spencer's. He’s always been able to read me pretty well, especially when I’m on the verge of handing out beatings. His slight smirk lets me know he’s not opposed to us duking it out. Too bad we’re on the boss's time, Spence might be up for it but I need to watch the building. Like I said, I have to keep us not dead.
“Awe, come on, Spence. We both know Ricky loves me.”
I roll my eyes at him, turning my attention back to the building. I see him bat his long lashes at me from the corner of my eye, but I ignore him. As if his charm could ever work on me.
Zander might be the smallest of the three of us, yet he’s never let that stop him from going toe to toe with us. He’s the first to push our buttons and throw punches; despite his size, he can easily hold his own. His emotions can go from happy to pissed and back again in a few moments, and while it used to be confusing, now it’s just him.
He’s not quite as built as Spencer is and definitely not as big as I am. Whereas I make a point of building muscle and bulking, he’s built with more lean muscles. He’s always been lanky, but now he has more of a swimmer's build- not exactly lacking muscle but typically underestimated. Something I think he actually enjoys. It gives him more chances to fight.
His dark hair is shaved short on the sides and long on top, hanging down just below his chin on whatever side he pushes it to. He keeps the undercut messy or tied back. Somehow, it works with his chaotic energy, where it usually would make anyone else look like a douche. It’s his eyes that give him such an easy in, though.
We all have our strengths between us, but Zander has always been our sweet talker. Whether it be with girls, parents, teachers, or just about anyone else. They all fall victim to his baby blues with just a couple of bats in their direction, mixed with a few smooth words.
I won’t lie; it’s useful as fuck. Even so, I won’t say it’s not annoying. He’s too aware of how good everyone thinks he looks and doesn’t hesitate to use it to his advantage, even when he shouldn’t. His smooth talking only further inflates his already massive ego.
Zander’s covered in tattoos with gauged ears and a few scattered piercings, and while my tattoos make me look rougher, somehow, his only makes people flock to him more, which is fine. He lives for attention.
I would prefer people leave me the fuck alone, and they do.
He knows I loathe it when he shortens my name like that, but I know him well enough to know he wants a reaction, so I choose to ignore him instead. I refuse to be his entertainment for the night.
Why the fuck did I think letting him sit shotgun was a good idea again?