Page 85 of Cuffed (Everyday Heroes 1)
“Because it’s quiet. There’s typically no one around, and if there is, it’s because they’ve filed a flight plan ahead of time and I already know about it. There are the lights of the runway and the rustling of the trees from the breeze. It’s even better when the moon’s full and the shadows are everywhere.” I fall silent, feeling silly but, for some rea
son, wanting him to know about one of the places I find peace.
“I can understand that. I have a place I like, too. It’s up in the hills, and when I go there, I can stare at the city’s lights below and the stars above for hours.”
There’s the baying of a dog in the far distance and then a reciprocated one from its echoes. This feels so normal, and I’m not sure why I’m not panicking that this is too close to breaking one of my rules, the one that demands I don’t do anything that seems like a date. But there’s a comfortable silence that I’m not used to, so maybe that’s why the anxiety seems to be missing.
Though, I did feel the same way—normal—at the Malone house tonight, which was far from quiet. With Luke and Moose and their little boy-big dog relationship, the constant ribbing between three brothers close as night but different as day, and the constant love felt between all members of the family, it was the most welcoming chaos I think I’ve ever seen.
“Who would have ever thought the three of you would be what you are today—a police officer, a firefighter, and a rescue pilot,” I muse, only realizing I’ve said it aloud when Grant’s chuckle rumbles through the night.
“I’m thinking I should be offended by that comment.”
“No. Not at all. It’s just . . . kind of cool.” My mind fills with memories I forgot I had. Of shy Grady and his books. Of loud Grayson and his daredevil stunts. Of responsible Grant always looking out for the two of them . . . and me.
He shrugs. “My dad instilled in us the need to serve.”
“And what does your mom think about that?”
“She’s tough.”
“Yeah, she is.” My smile is automatic when it comes to thinking of her.
“She’s a cop’s wife. She knows the drill. There have been a handful of times when I have known she has been really worried. Bad calls. Natural disasters. Accidents.”
“You sound so casual.”
“Like I said, she’s tough. Just as any woman who decides to take one of us on has to be.” He lifts his eyes to meet mine across the dimly lit night, and the look he gives me says the two words that don’t pass his lips: Like you.
Chills race over my skin despite the warm night air, and I’m nervous and cognizant that we are talking about ourselves more than I typically allow.
“Thank you for taking me.”
“The minute I turned into the neighborhood, I realized it might not have been such a great idea,” he says, making me close one of the padlocked doors he’d just opened. “I’m glad you had a good time.”
“I did. Um, I’d invite you back to my place, but there isn’t much to it . . . but it is clean.” It’s the only thing I can think to say—when all else fails, talk about the physicality between us to prevent us from talking about anything else.
“You say it’s clean as if it’s a shock.”
“It is.” I laugh. “We’ll just say it wasn’t too pretty a few weeks ago. Or if Desi were here, she’d say ever.”
I shove up off the tailgate and begin walking to my loft, my mind set on the notion of if he follows, he follows, and if he doesn’t, he doesn’t.
That’s a lie I knowingly tell myself. Truth is, I don’t want to be alone tonight. I don’t want to give my mind a single chance to get lost in itself and bring me back there again.
I have one foot on the stairs that lead up to my loft when Grant’s hand lands on my bicep, turning me around. “Emerson.”
He rubs his thumb on the inside of my arm, and I can see the confusion on his face the same moment I yank my arm away from his touch.
“Did you get hurt today?” he asks, and I cringe at my overreaction, but that’s my ugly, and I don’t want him knowing my ugly.
I’ve escaped him seeing them this far and now I scramble to figure out how to recover and take cues from what he asked. “No, not today. The nylon on the rig rubs me right there for some reason, so I have a few scars from always getting scratched. I’m so used to it that I forget it’s even there until someone mentions it.”
He stares, gauging whether to believe me or not. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to . . .”
“No, I overreacted. It’s okay.” I lean in and do what I’ve been thinking about ever since we left his parents’ house—I press my lips to his.
Grant reacts immediately. Hunger and the mint he had in the car are on his tongue. His hands run up and down my arms as he takes a step closer, bringing us chest to chest since I’m still one step up from him.
