by Kay Maree
“Thirty-five is eight years younger than you dad, baby, a fact I know can’t have escaped you. But again, how old I am, where you work, how old you are, and whatever other reasons swirling round that pretty head of yours, you’re using to convince yourself that you and I won’t work are of fuck all consequence to my end game.”
“And that would be? Your end game, that is,” Seraphina questions on a long exhale.
“That’s simple, baby,” I grin. “You giving me you however you want to give it, and me giving you everything, starting with my promise to protect you with all I’ve got and cherish the gift of you every fucking day for the rest of my life.”
Moments bleed into minutes without either of us saying a word, but I take it as a good sign that during that time not once does Seraphina break eye contact with me.
Whoever said the truth will set you free is full of shit. What they should have said was the truth will make you hand over your man card and grow a pussy. No word of a lie, the whole time I was speaking, I felt the overwhelming urge to check and make sure I still had a dick. But pussy or not, I knew anything less than the heartfelt truth wouldn’t get me what I want the most; her. All of her, from the top of her beautiful head to the tips of her tiny little toes.
The minute I touched her, I knew Seraphina was going to be my undoing and fuck if that didn’t scare the hell out of me, but fear aside, I’ll willingly let this woman break me wide open so long as she is the one who puts me back together again.
With the silence stretched taut between us, I feel as if we’re standing on the precipice of something so enormous, so important that it will be etched into both our memories forever. The question is, will the landing be soft, shrouded in the promise of a bounty so great men have lived and died fighting for the chance at it, or will the desperation caused by her rejection send me into a tailspin of hatred and self-loathing all perpetrated by my own words?
CHAPTER SEVEN
High Hopes ~ Panic! At The Disco
SERAPHINA
There have been precious few times in my life that I’ve felt more treasured from just a look. I can count the number of times on one hand that someone, anyone has spoken to me with such genuine affection evident in their tone, let alone weaved magic that has the ability to wrap its way around my heart and take hold with their words. However, like a magician, a powerful one, an all-knowing one Ryker has done exactly that.
It was as if he saw my fears, sensed my trepidation overtaking the chance to explore things further and my concerns over how our age gap will be viewed by others and obliterated them in one fell swoop. A collection of words, albeit almost poetic ones but still words nevertheless was all it took to open my mind up to the possibility of an us.
Call me naive, but I don’t think there’s a woman alive today that could resist such an impassioned speech given by a man who looks like Ryker. Emotion shone brightly in his eyes, the truth was written as plain as day all over his handsome, chiselled features. The ease of his answer, the way he systematically ticked off every reason on my exhaustive list of cons didn’t hold a candle to the impact his honesty had on me, though.
Truthfully, I haven’t had a lot of the latter in my life. From my dad sheltering me to my Uncle’s coddling me, my world has been narrow until now. My propensity to be singularly focused and my inherent willingness to ignore the glaring disparities of my life, I’m learning has stifled me even more than I care to imagine. Ryker isn’t a cure-all, though, albeit his characterization of me was enlightening. But I can’t rely on a man I’ve just met to guide me to the me I’m supposed to be; that job is mine and mine alone. One I’ve put off for long enough.
Bluntly put, it’s time to take charge of my life, whether Ryker is in it or not. The honesty in his words knocked the wind from my lungs, resonating deeply with me but after only one date, I’m hardly in the position to know if he is the one or not. I mean, he could be, it feels as if he is, but how am I to know when I have no experience with matters of the heart.
“Have you lost your freakin’ mind? Did we enter a different dimension where hot guys reign supreme and us women-folk are mere servants who worship at their feet?” My best friend and resident drama queen shouts unnecessarily down the line, ripping me from my thoughts.
“How did you get women are servants and men are supreme rulers out of what I just told you?” I ask, genuinely bewildered at how Amity’s brain functions.
“Ah, hello…” she says, drawing out the last word. “You all but fell on his dick when he delivered his awe-inspiring, me man, you woman, we us speech. How was I supposed to take that?”
“I didn’t fall on his dick,” I gasp in offense. Granted, I wanted to, but I didn’t. Yay for self-restraint.
“You might not have physically but your dirty mind was climbing that big hunk of man meat like a fucking tree.”
Hmm, she’s not wrong, but that’s beside the point. “For your information, regardless of the leg spreading my inner slut was doing, I did not, at any point in time, allow her out to play.”
Amity has always found my alter ego, aka my inner slut hilarious. At first, she thought I had multiple personalities and was more than a little concerned, but when I explained it to her, Amity got it just like she’s always got me.
See, it isn’t as if I’m holding onto my V-Card awaiting the promise of marriage or anything, it’s simply that I refuse to turn into my father and the only way I can assure that won’t occur is to abstain from doing the horizontal mambo until I feel a real connection with someone. Something that hadn’t happened until recently.
“Eventually, you know you’re gonna have to give in to your coochies demands, right? Unless you intend to be a crazy old spinster with a menagerie of creepy critters and a second hymen, that is.”
Seriously, why is she like this? What did I ever do to deserve this kind of mentally deranged lunatic in my life?
“Do you think, just for a second you can stow the mental patient and maybe be of some assistance to your soon-to-be ex-best friend?” I snap back, hoping she takes the out I’m offering her.
“Sure, right around the time I remember why it is I’m friends with a straight-laced, my vagina’s too good for anybody walking boner factory inducing hussy like you.”
Baby Jesus orphan tears. What the fuck has gotten her panties in such a dire twist that she’s speaking out her ass?
“Before we continue this less than constructive conversation, is there something you need to tell me? Because while you always fly your bitch flag loud and proud, you’re unusually caustic today.”
Amity groans into the phone. “It’s nothing. Well, not nothing but it barely rates a mention in comparison to what you’ve got going on.”
“Tell me,” I demand, refusing to play this game.
When Amity gets like this, there’s only two options as to how to proceed. One, I let her burn out her frustration by railing at the world and in turn, me. Or two, I call her out on her shit and keep doing it until she finally caves and lets me in. Let’s just say, I’m feeling door number two today.
“Tick-tock,” I prompt. “Time’s a wasting and my happy buzz is fading as we speak.”
“Fine,” she huffs. “I may or may not, and by may I mean did have a run in with Kael today.”
Ah, well that explains things.
Amity and Kael have a love hate relationship. That is to say, Amity used to love him until Kael took it upon himself to make sure she hated him. There’s isn’t an easy story to hear and it’s not mine to tell, but I can share that underneath the pain and heartache she’s had to bear, Amity is still very much in love with the hard-headed, foolhardy man.
“And how’d that go?” I ask already knowing the answer.
“Peachy,” my best friend retorts sarcastically. “The man who shall now only be referred to as Supreme Asshole Of All Time or SAOAT for the sake of expediency, yet again proved why you need to improve your lock picking skills so I can ha
ve at your dad’s cache of grenades and other high-powered automatic weapons.”
That does not sound good. Not good at all.
The last time Amity pledged her allegiance to the second amendment and forthwith partook in all that entailed, we both spent a night in county lockup for disturbing the peace and being found in possession of military-grade weapons. If it weren’t for my dad lying his ass off to protect ours, we’d have been tried and sentenced to a minimum five years in prison and a two-hundred-thousand dollar fine.
“May I remind you that dad threatened to disown me and leave both of us in jail the next time we even considered raiding his stash,” I admonish gently.
“Well, there is that,” Amity sighs, “but given the gravity of the situation and my rampant desire to create havoc where he’s concerned, I think it might just be worth the risk.”
“I love you, sister from another mister, but that would be a big fat ixnay on the weaponays.”
“In that case, how do you feel about kidnapping and torture?”
“I feel like I should tell you it’s wrong and you shouldn’t do it, but I have the sneaking suspicion you wouldn’t listen if I did,” I return, trying and failing to hide my humour.
“What about a touch of poisoning that may result in a singular fatality?”
“Again with the it’s wrong and you look like shit in orange.”
Groaning in a very unladylike fashion, Amity snaps, “Then I’m all out of options and fucks to give. Kael can kiss my lily-white ass and so can the trampy, discount Barbie I saw him with at Doughy Delights this afternoon. If I didn’t love her so much and knew she needed the business, I’d tell Stella to put them both on the Do Not Serve list.”
Wow, harsh. Everyone within a twenty-mile radius of town knows Doughy Delights is the only place to go to get your sugar cravings satisfied, which means being put on Stella’s Do Not Serve list is a fate worse than death.
Out of the three of us, Stella our other best friend is the most well-adjusted. She owns her own business, has a steady boyfriend - who in my opinion isn’t worthy of her, but it’s not my place to judge - and is saving for a down payment on a cute two-bedroom cottage she plans to. be moved into within the year. The last and her horrible penchant for buying overpriced shoes she’ll never in a million years wear means Stella needs all of the customers she can get. Hence, Amity’s unwillingness to get Kael and his floozy of the month banned for all eternity, something Stella would do in a heartbeat.
“Just a suggestion but have you entertained the idea of ignoring him and whatever interchangeable whore he’s traipsing around with this week?”
Granted, that’s easier said than done when she and Kael run in the same circles given her brother, Reuben is his friend and they work at the firehouse together. Not to mention, he has a standing invitation to Sunday dinner every week, which Kael would be less likely to give up than his jerk off arm.
“Dumbest suggestion ever,” Amity grouses. “I think it's time I face facts, babe, I’m stuck with him the same way a hooker’s stuck with herpes. Sure, run-ins with the fungal infection can be sporadic but when there’s a flare up you’re just gonna have to woman up and suffer the burn.”
Unable to contain it, I burst out laughing.
“Yuck it up, crotch goblin, your time is coming. I see endless conversations in which I’m gonna take great pleasure, revelling in your inexperience with the penis-toting sex in your future.”
And while that should concern me, I can’t bring myself to give a damn. All I know is that I have a date with Ryker later and I intend to enjoy the hell out of his company for however long it lasts.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Beat It ~ Fall Out Boy
RYKER
Six dates in one week isn’t something I ever saw myself committing to, not when the longest streak I’ve had until now was two. But like everything else about her, Seraphina makes it easy. I’ve come to crave the times I get to see her, but between both of our jobs scheduling enough time to get my fix has been difficult.
“So boss man, when do we get to meet this piece of ass that has you so distracted these days?” Jack asks, following it up with a hard slap to my back. His shit-eating grin doesn’t help my urge to punch him in the face, either.
“Watch yourself,” I growl pissed right the fuck off he would dare to call Seraphina a piece of ass.
Jack and I have never seen eye to eye. He comes from money, old Texas oil money, and while that shouldn’t define the measure of a man, it certainly does him. He’s arrogant, entitled, laissez-faire, and his work ethic pales in comparison to all the other guys on my team. If it weren’t for the fact his daddy’s the Mayor, I would have fired Jack’s ass months ago but seeing as his employment status is out of my control I just have to suck it up and deal with his bullshit.
“Didn’t mean anything by it, boss,” he smirks, telling me everything I need to know. Jack doesn’t give a shit if he offended me or disrespected Seraphina, his end game is to find out anything he can use against me for what reason I do not know.
“Make sure it doesn’t fucking happen again. I won’t have anyone talking about my girl that way,” I warn, giving him my most menacing glare.
Thankfully the stare down is broken when Kael walks into the bay, holding a stack of flyers in his hand. “What do you want me to do with the rest of these, Ry? Had a few kids on the football team post some around the high school, and I handed a shit load of them out to local businesses, but we’ve still got a ton left?”
This weekend, three days from now is the annual firemen's picnic, an event that’s near and dear to my heart. Every year Station forty-four, along with a variety of vendors, artists, crafters and even the local brewery come together to put on a two day event filled with food and live music. For the past four years, we’ve managed to raise over one hundred thousand dollars each year, with all the proceeds going to the children’s hospital burns unit.
My need to do something to give back to the community, especially the children in it became all-consuming after a particularly bad house fire we attended, in which two of the three children inside died and the other suffered burns to sixty-five percent of his body. Lachlan’s parents didn’t have insurance; his dad worked as a casual day laborer and his mom a house cleaner, so to say Lachlan’s care was substandard is a massive understatement.
Faced with the loss of two of their children and the cost of laying them to rest, Lachlan’s parents didn’t have the funds or fortitude left to deal with insurance companies and the hospital breathing down their necks, demanding immediate payment of their bills.
I’d love to tell you those organizations humanity kicked in but that would be a lie. They didn’t care that these poor people were struggling, or that they didn’t know if they’d be able to keep a roof over their heads so that their badly injured son had a house to come home to. All they cared about was their bottom line. A bottom line that had a shit load of zeros behind it.
Station forty-four, along with Lubbock County Sheriff's Department did a collection to try and take some of the pressure off Lachlan’s parents. It wasn’t a lot, definitely not enough, but ten grand was better than nothing.
Thinking back on it, the day I went to Jack to ask him to kick in some cash for the family was probably the day my dislike of him turned into out and out hatred. Jack’s first response was to question why the fuck he’d hand over money to people he didn’t know, and his second was to condemn them for being so stupid as to not have insurance in the first place. Initially, it shocked the hell out of me, his lack of compassion, but as the days and months went on, I took notice, paid attention and saw that Jack’s behavior wasn’t isolated. It was his norm.
Lachlan’s parents couldn’t have been more grateful if they tried the day I handed them the check. Their gratitude and the difference it would make to their lives spurned me to want to do more, to help others in the same position, and the best way to do that was to raise mone
y - a lot of it - that would be designated for the sole purpose of helping burn victims and their families. Hence, the fireman’s picnic was born.
“Sean down at the county sheriff's office said he’ll take a few dozen,” I answer somewhat belatedly. “Apparently, his sister works over at Hutchinson Middle School and said she’d post some on their bulletin boards and hand them out to students. Stella needs more too. She’s been handing them out with every purchase so she’s running through them like water.”
“Sweet, I’ll head over Stella’s way after I finish doing inventory on engine one. I’ll need a sugar fix after dealing with that clusterfuck anyway,” he says, shooting Jack a withering glare.
“Don’t blame me,” Jack retorts angrily. “That fire last night was one step down from being a five alarm.”
“Yeah?” Kael snaps, arching an eyebrow at him. “And I suppose that explains why half the bunker gear that should be in the back is missing, and hose two is out of commission.”
Flipping him off, Jack doesn’t offer an explanation. Instead, he storms back off in the direction of the down room. “One of these days I’m gonna kick his ass and string him up on the flagpole by his balls,” Kael warns.
I grin at him and nod. “Not only wouldn’t I blame you, but I wouldn’t do a damn thing to stop you either.”
“You think his daddy would have us crucified if we dared to touch a hair on his precious little boy’s head, though?”
“Highly likely, but I’m thinking the reward would outweigh the risk at this point,” I offer. “What’s this about engine one’s hose being out of commission? That equipment was just checked and recertified last week.”
Shaking his head, Kael sighs. “Slaton county was an engine down last night, so when the call came in about a fire at an abandoned warehouse on Sixth Street they needed to outsource. We were the closest station house, so we got the call. It was me, Jack-off, Reuben and Andre on and it was Jack’s time to man the hose. Fuck knows what happened while I was coordinating with Neil, Slaton’s primary, all I know is that Jack was in charge of roll out and the hose malfunctioned.”
