Page 46 of Cuffed (Everyday Heroes 1)
“Damn straight.”
“Your mom would disagree with your line of thinking.”
“So, don’t tell her.”
“I won’t.” His laugh rings out, and I know my brothers have heard him so our time is limited. “You already have your answer how to handle her, Grant.”
“What?” I tip the bottle up again.
“Make her mad at you. It might be frustrating. It might not be pretty, but then again, matters of the heart never are.”
No one said anything about hearts.
He’s still there. I can feel his eyes on me.
I huff as I lay the first of six canopies out on the ground and inspect it for any sign of tears or any seams that might need to be re-stitched before I can repack it in its rig.
“Who pissed off Malone?”
I look over to where Travis stands with his sleeveless shirt on, his baseball cap bent at the brim, and a red rag fisted in one hand, and I am thankful
that my sunglasses hide the glare I shoot him. The sweet, old man who manages the airstrip doesn’t deserve my vitriol, and yet, his comment has fanned the flames of the irritation Grant is causing.
“How do you know Grant?” I ask.
“Everyone knows the Malones in this town. They’re as much a part of Sunnyville as the grapes that grow on the hills around here.” He adjusts the brim of his cap.
“For the record, I didn’t piss off Malone.” I walk to the other side of the canopy, which is starting to billow from the breeze, and force myself not to rush through the inspection. These chutes stop our falls, so it definitely doesn’t pay to be hasty.
“If you didn’t piss him off, why’s he been sitting at the end of the runway for the past hour?”
“He is? I didn’t notice.” I don’t even venture to look the way of his police cruiser where it sits blaringly out of place because I refuse to give either man the satisfaction of knowing I have been paying attention.
“Yep. Right out there.” He lifts a chin and eyes me as he tries to figure out if I’m lying or not.
“Humph.” At this point, the less I say the better.
“D’ya want me to go find out? Maybe he’s interested in jumping. Having a Malone jump here might be good for business.”
“Nah. He’s not worth the wasted breath. Thanks for the offer, though.” I squat and begin the methodical process of packing the first canopy into its pack under the scrutiny of both men. Each minute that passes only serves to annoy me further, until I’m huffing every few seconds to show some kind of resistance.
“Well then . . .” Travis’s boots scuffle against the pavement until they are in my eyesight, prompting me to look up at him. “I put a to-do list on your desk. It isn’t too long, but . . . it has to get done.”
“I’ll take care of it in a bit. Thanks.” I focus again on the task at hand. After a minute, I hear him turn and head back inside, leaving me alone to ignore Grant.
Over the next hour, I work on the next five packs, well aware of Grant’s presence. Reminded of the kiss we shared. Of the demands he laid down. Of the frustration I feel every time I think of him—which is a lot—when I don’t want to think of him at all.
I don’t get handled. I don’t get played.
Even being firm in those beliefs, the scene from the bar plays in my mind over and over again. By the time I’m done, I’m hot, I’m tired, and I’m irritated to all hell.
“Whoa, where’s the fire?” Leo asks as I slam into the front office of Blue Skies, stomping my feet like a tantruming toddler.
“Don’t ask,” I grumble as I walk right past him and into my office, shutting the door behind me. He stares at me through the glass door, completely confused, so I turn to stare out the window, which of course directly faces where Grant is parked.
For the love of God.
My phone is in my hand, and I’m pushing send without thinking this through.
