Irresistible (Peterick/side Trohley)

1

DRUMROLL PLEASE

WELCOME TO IRRESISTIBLE!

MY NEW MAIN FOCUS.

BOOK THREE IN THE 'Things FOB Will Never Be In Their Lives' IS CALLED 'War Zone' AND IT COMES OUT SOON!

Word count--1476

I sigh as I walk into the building. No doubt some fucking stupid cop is going to say I look young. Too young to be here. I've done my duties just like every other fucking person. I've done things I'm not proud of, fucked over people that I probably shouldn't have. I've done everything they've done.

My past is probably worst than theirs, if we're being honest. Not everyone almost got killed by twins that they were trying to catch. I got shot in my right ankle, and the doctor I went to in Evanston said it would never be back to where I was.

I used to run a mile every morning to stay in shape, but now I can't. I feel like I'm getting fatter, but I'm nowhere near where I was four years ago, which is good.

I see the 'no hats' sign on the door, bringing me out of my thoughts and making me groan. I hate my hair, but I have to abide by the rules. I stuff my fedora in the backpack I'm carrying, running my hands through my hair, before deciding to untie my bow tie and unbutton some of the buttons on my white button-down.

Maybe that'll make me look less like The Ninth Doctor and more like a confident almost thirty-one year old man. As I walk in the main office, all eyes are on me, and I feel my cheeks heat up, hoping someone'll save me.

A guy with red hair and a bunch of tattoos does, thankfully. He's got on a dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to where you can visibly see that tattoos are everywhere on his skin.

"I'm Andy," He holds out his right hand for me to shake. "Detective Hurley, if you'd like to get fancy," I see a tattoo with a different letter on each of his fingers, altogether spelling 'fuck.' Holy shit.

"Patrick Stump. Magical Profiler of Greatness That's Going to Save Your Ass, if you'd like to get fancy," I take his hand, and he cracks a smile at me.

"You're funny, man," Andy pats my back before grabbing my arm and pulling me with him to a conference room. At least that's what I think it is.

A guy with pretty fucking nice hair and rad sunglasses that lie atop the hair looks at him. "This is my partner, Detective Joseph Trohman. Call him Curly," Joe glares at Andy.

"That's only for you, babe," And I feel a bit awkward, but Joe turns to me, holding his hand out. "I'm Joe," The hand he holds out is the left one, and I can see that he's married. Flirting with a man, and he's married?

"Maybe you shouldn't call him babe while your wife is at home waiting for you," I point out, taking his hand. "Stump. Patrick Stump," Joe's eyebrows raise, and he smirks at me.

"Would you look at that? He just called you my wife, Andy. I guess that works, but I think he prefers husband," My mouth makes an 'O' shape.

"Oh my.. I'm fucking sorry, man," I say, tugging at my too short hair. "Fuck, I'm a dick,"

"I wouldn't go that far, but don't assume, alright?" And Joe winks at me, hand on Andy's forearm as they sit next to each other.

"What are we waiting for?" I ask after a few minutes of awkward silence. Well, I'm the silent one. They are both chatting away.

"Wentz. He's never on time," As if on cue, a really fucking hot guy with blonde hair and tattoos -- what's up with this fucked up place? Cops aren't supposed to be covered in tattoos -- comes in with three coffees and an apple.

"Motherfucker," He curses, almost dropping one of the coffees. I'm quick to my feet, grabbing two of them. "Thanks," The guy -- who I'm guessing is the infamous Wentz -- finally looks up, meeting my eyes for a second before his eyes drop down to my lips.

"I'm Patrick," I hold out my hand, but he just looks at it.

"Pete's a germaphobe," Andy says from the table. "Doesn't hug you unless you've bathed in Germ-X," Pete hits the back of Andy's head before pulling a tube of Germ-X from his pants pocket, dousing his hands in the liquid.

"You're not making it any better," I say, and Pete nods, face telling that he really doesn't fucking care.

"I'm Pete Wentz. Call me Wentz," I think Pete is kind of a dick, but I know where judging got me about ten minutes ago, also. "Brief us, Andrew," Pete commands.

Andy rolls his eyes before getting up and starting, "Two weeks ago, the body of twenty-two year old Jacob Halstone was found. He had blonde hair and blue eyes. He was naked, although there was no sign of sexual assault. He was an openly gay man that visited the gay and lesbian bar Sidetrack very often, and he left with a different guy almost every time.

"Approximately four days later, the body of blonde hair, blue eyed twenty-two year old Samuel St. Clair was found. He was also naked, but no sign of sexual assault was found. Now, our killer seems to have a type. Three days ago, the body of Jason Moore was found. He had blonde hair and blue eyes. Anyone care to guess his age?" Andy says.

"Twenty-two?" Joe asks, making Pete roll his eyes.

"Bingo!" Andy and Joe high-five, and this time I roll my eyes.

"Alright, Stump, you're with me, while the lovebirds try not to fuck in the conference room," He turns to walk out before looking back. "No fucking in the conference room," Andy laughs, and Joe pouts. I don't know what I'm supposed to do, so I just follow Pete.

I follow him into an office that reads 'Wentz' on the door, so I'm guessing that it's his. "How old are you, kid?" And there it fucking is.

"Thirty," His eyes don't widen, and he doesn't seem the least bit surprised.

"I would've guessed thirty-two," Pete shrugs before shutting the door. Taking a sip of his coffee, he looks at me for a while, and when I find his gaze, it's concentrated on my lips. I roll my eyes.

"You know, my eyes are up here," I point to my eyes, but his gaze doesn't move from my lips.

"I know," His eyes stay focused on my lips as he takes a bite out of an apple. "I don't care,"

"I can tell," I say sarcastically, taking a sip from his coffee.

"That's my coffee!" He complains. I roll my eyes.

"Get over it, princess. I don't have cooties," I offer him the coffee. He reluctantly takes it.

"Patrick, I'm a fucking germaphobe. When's the last time you brushed your teeth? Washed your face? Your hands?" Pete's a fucking paranoid dick.

"Twenty minutes ago for all of the above," He sighs before getting the Germ-X out anyways and wiping off the coffee everywhere except for where you're supposed to drink it. "So the most important part is the part you choose not to clean?"

"You're fucking hot. Maybe you left something on here that can convince me not to pin you against a wall and fuck you," He says nonchalantly, like he was just talking about the weather. I go into a coughing fit. "You okay?" He seems amused by the flushed look on my face as I try to regain my breath.

"Yeah, no thanks to you," I take a deep breath. "You're a dick, you know," I tell him flat out. He nods.

"I know," His gaze stays on my lips as he takes another sip of his coffee.

"Find anything terrible yet?" I ask Pete. He shakes his head.

"Not yet," He says, making me scoff. He's a douche. Why do all hot guys have to be douches? "Are you gay?" He asks me. I almost go into a coughing fit again as he smirks at me.

"W-What?" I ask, giving him a chance to change his question. He just stares blankly at me as he repeats it. "I, uh, no? I'd like to think that I'm pan, but I prefer guys," I explain.

"That's good," He nods his head, looking at my lips again.

"Well, what about you?" I ask. He smiles, shrugging.

"Bi, I suppose," At least I'm not the only one that likes the same gender.

Who would've thought that I'd have met two married guys and a bisexual one on my first day? Lucky coincidence, I guess.