I offered a sad smile. “You definitely blew my mind. Probably ruined me for other men.”
I had no doubt his chest was puffing with male pride.
“Well, then?” He spread his hands.
“No. We can’t. I care about you. You’re amazing in the sack. But this just isn’t going to work. Go back to the redheaded waitress. I’m sure she’s eager for seconds.” I reached up on my tiptoes and gave his cheek, scratchy with scruff since he hadn’t shaved since we left Montana, a peck. “Thanks for the short-term offer, though. I’m honored.”
I walked back to the house, and this time Kennedy let me go. I was exhausted from the job… and dealing with him. I wanted to climb in my bed and sleep for a week, but no matter where I did that, the man would be right there.
“Honored,” I heard him mutter as I stepped inside. “What the fuck?’
For some reason, I actually believed I may have hurt his feelings.
But that couldn’t be.
Kennedy didn’t have feelings when it came to women.
He was just broad shoulders and a very talented dick.
CHAPTEREIGHT
KENNEDY
“At least we’renot being shot at,” Hayes said.
I grinned at him as we both held the handles of a backboard, carrying a fake car accident victim to a waiting ambulance. It was a week after our mission in Mexico, and we were back in Sparks doing some community service. It was a Saturday morning interagency emergency response training. That meant there were several different fake accidents happening at once, so different departments learned to work smoothly together and ensure everyone’s skills were fresh in case something real came up. We all wanted to be prepared. It wasn’t just the motto for the Boy Scouts.
Quincy and Ford were working with Indi and mountain rescue to track, helping to retrieve pretend lost and injured hikers and bring them back to town by helicopter. Hayes and I were working a fake motor vehicle accident with the fire department. Hayes was with Megan and the sheriff’s department.
This meant I wasn’t near Quincy. Again. She’d kept her distance since the night we’d had sex in my room at the bunkhouse. I’d given her space, even though I hated it. I still couldn’t figure out what she wanted from me. She hated that I was–had been, past tense, because I wasn’t anymore–a player, that much was clear. But I couldn’t figure out how to prove to her I could be something different.
“This is simple stuff for you two, I’m sure.” The fire chief–a guy in his thirties with a quick mind and laid-back leadership style–held another corner of the backboard. A fresh-faced eighteen-year-old had the other. He was clearly new to fire/rescue and was as eager as a golden retriever.
Christ, had I ever been that young and earnest? I’d gone into Basic Training at that age. I hadn’t known about all the fucked up, evil shit in the world. I’d only been jaded to being used as a political pawn, not to anything else. Like war and unnecessary death. Of my friend being murdered and my other friend being fucked over.
“Living in Sparks has its perks.” I may not be a senator like my dad, but I could be diplomatic. We couldn’t speak of our missions–in and out of the military–and they might not believe us anyway if we shared them.
The EMTs were waiting at the back of the ambulance with a gurney, and we set the patient down. From what I’d been told, he was another volunteer firefighter who had tweaked his groin muscle in a softball game and couldn’t participate in the all-county disaster drill other than laying on his back and pretending to be unconscious.
“You’re up, guys,” the chief told them.
They gave him a smile and a little salute and went to ‘work’ on the guy. A paramedic was supervising their part in this, a skills assessment on how to triage and care for a car accident victim.
I turned and surveyed the event. We were in the high school parking lot with a collection of fire trucks, sheriff’s vehicles, and even forest service SUVs. It was going well, and I was impressed with the joint venture.
A totaled car–delivered by none other than Lee Landers and his tow truck–was being ripped apart for training by the fire department. One guy was using the jaws of life on the driver’s door while two others were pretending to treat a dummy who was in the rear seat through the broken back window as if he’d been in an accident.
Hayes and I had been part of the mass casualty portion of the training, forcing the sheriff’s department to triage a large number of injuries. I saw Megan and Taft working on a group who’d volunteered from the local church to be patients. The guy we’d just handed off had been one of them, one of the worst with a supposed femoral bleed.
Mrs. L had enlisted us to help in this Saturday morning activity. We were members of the community now and well trained for situations like these although we were the ones usually creating the carnage or injuring people. Although we didn’t injure. We gave everyone a double tap, one bullet to the chest, one to the head, to ensure they were dead.
Ford had agreed with his grandmother, and none of us had complained because while this was different than our usual, SEALs trained constantly. Staying on top of our game, knowing we could work and survive as a team was everything. If this morning’s event could save some lives, I was all in.
“If you ever want to join the department, we’d love to have you.”
I turned and faced the chief. He was in bunker pants and beneath the red suspenders that held them up, he wore a navy Sparks FD t-shirt.
“We’re better at making fires than putting them out,” I admitted.