Marcus, however, admires her work openly, boldly. Too fucking boldly. “Damn, that’s impressive,” Marcus says. “What’s your number? I might need you to stitch me up one of these days.” I’m about to tell my brother to shut his fucking mouth and stay away from her—that he doesn’t get her phone number because she’s not his to talk to or think about. But Lexie’s response beats me to it.
