Page 99 of Cuffed (Everyday Heroes 1)
“Yes.” But I’m starving for a whole hell of a lot more than food.
“Well, Mr. Malone, no one can say you don’t know how to charm the pants off a girl when you take her on a date.” I take a bite of what’s left of my French fries as I push against the sand, making my swing rock gently back and forth like his is.
He glances over to me, eyebrows narrowing as he finishes his own bite of hamburger. “Take-out and the park isn’t where I normally take a lady on a date.” My back is up immediately, offended by his response. He notices, too. “They’re your rules, Emerson.”
Those words snap me from the haze of my burgeoning temper. Me and my damn rule about no dates. Can’t be mad at the man for listening to me, or for pushing my buttons to get me to realize how dumb said rules are.
“They are,” I murmur as I toss the empty fry container into the open bag at our feet before scooting back onto my swing and beginning to pump my legs. Anything to get out the frustration at myself for being upset by his comment when it was my doing.
I lean my head back, close my eyes, tighten my hands on the chains as I swing higher and higher. The rush of the air against my cheeks, the feel of my hair flying behind me . . . there is something about being on a swing that’s liberating. I’m under my own power. I’m the one who controls how high or fast I go.
There is no Travis and his to-do lists. There is no dread every time the phone rings over what Chris needs now or what proposition he has for me to assure that I’ll get approved. There are no thoughts at all.
It’s just the wind, and the effort, and it’s just . . . juvenile.
“You can’t outswing me, Reeves,” Grant says beside me, prompting me to look to my left and see that we are swinging in unison, side by side.
I pump harder, for some reason needing to beat him, needing this release I don’t understand.
Our laughter fills the empty park as we race each other. I’m so high now that as I reach the peak of the swing, the rubber seat beneath me falls lax for a second.
I’m not sure how long we race each other or if Grant willingly lets me win, but by the time we stop trying, I’m winded and my cheeks hurt from laughing so hard.
We slowly allow the pendulum of our swings to slow until our shoes are dragging ever so lightly on the sand beneath our feet. And when we come to a complete stop, I rest my head against my hand still holding on to the chain and look over to him.
His hair is mussed, and his eyes are as alive as his smile, but there is something else there that I wait for.
“You want to know why I brought you here?”
“Why?”
“Because the swing set was the last place I remember you before you weren’t happy anymore.”
My lips part as I stare at him, all the vigor we just used to beat each other gone. I think of that day. Of swinging with him on the playground. Of lining up after recess. Of the intercom call. Of telling him I hate him and that I never wanted to see him again.
My throat’s dry, and I’m not sure whether it’s because of the exertion or because of what he just said. The one thing I know for sure is that it’s the first time that I don’t want to run away when he brings up the past.
His reason is actually very sweet. And painful.
And just as quickly, the feeling of betrayal, I don’t expect or know how to handle, comes back with a vengeance
“You lied to me,” I say in a barely audible whisper.
His eyes fall, as does my heart. “I did.” He nods, and the look on his face says he’d do it again in a heartbeat if he had to.
I’m not sure how I feel about that.
“It’s hard for me to trust you because of that.”
He laughs, but it’s a short, gruff sound that dies almost as quickly as it begins. “I think your lack of trust has nothing to do with me and everything to do with what you’ve been through, Emerson.”
“How do you know what I’ve been through, Grant?”
His head startles in confusion. At least I hope it’s confusion. “I don’t.”
I don’t relent on my stare because the sudden racing of my pulse has me doubting myself and if I should trust him now.
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