All In: A Vegas Reverse Harem Romance

by Cassie Cole

  Vazquez and I had graduated together from the Fire Academy in Emmitsburg, Maryland. We’d been with Dominguez and most of the other guys for years without anyone leaving. They were like my brothers. We’d seen a lot of good together—and a lot of bad. Those kinds of experiences made you closer than any family.

  And it was completely, utterly platonic.

  It was nice that way. I grew up with two sisters who were nothing like me. They helped mom bake and plant flowers. They were girly girls, whereas I…

  Well, I wasn’t.

  I played every sport my parents signed me up for. Soccer, baseball, basketball. I even tried out for the football team in middle school, though they would only let me play kicker. Fuck that. I was strong. I wanted to hit people.

  Dad and I camped and fished. I was essentially the son he didn’t have, and we both liked it that way. It’s who I was. I liked getting dirt on my face rather than concealer.

  Growing close to Vazquez and Dominguez was like finally having brothers. We all loved each other unconditionally. We had each other’s backs in a way nobody else could understand. It was special.

  I should have known it was too good to last.

  Rogers was serving up turkey burgers when the common room of the station drew quiet. I put down my beer and turned toward the door. The man standing there wore a perfectly ironed black uniform with yellow rings around the cuffs and a heavy amount of insignia on his chest. He held his white hat under one arm and looked around the station.

  Vazquez gasped. “That’s Chief Elliott.”

  The Fire Chief’s gaze swung around the room before stopping on me. I felt my heart stop in my chest as he approached.

  “Chief Elliott!” Rogers said, putting down the frying pan to shake his hand. “It’s a pleasure to see you. Please excuse the, uhh…”

  “No apologies needed,” Elliott said in a deep, authoritative voice. “Nothing wrong with some drinks after a shift. Would you mind if I borrowed Pederson?”

  Dominguez made an “Ooo” sound like I was getting sent to the pricipal’s office. Rogers glared at him and said, “Not at all.”

  I followed Elliott across the station in a daze. He went into the Lieutenant’s office and shut the door, then invited me to sit across the desk from him. The man oozed command; the moment he sat behind the desk, it was his. I tried to appear sober. It wasn’t hard while staring at the Miami Fire Chief.

  Am I in trouble?

  “Thank you for your time,” Elliott said. He procured a yellow folder I hadn’t noticed and opened it on the table. “You graduated second in your class at the Emmitsburg academy. Your probationary period went smoothly, and since becoming a full-time firefighter you’ve received exemplary performance reviews.”

  He paused to wait for me to say something. “Thank you, sir.” I felt incredibly confused. Was he building me up before tearing me down? I kept waiting for the but in his speech. It felt like there was a but coming.

  Another thought came to me: what if I’m getting promoted? Lieutenant Rogers might be moving up, leaving his position vacant. Oh man! I’d never expected that to happen so quickly. I was the kind of person who put her head down and worked hard, and let the chips fall where they may.

  Shit. Vazquez and Dominguez and the others would never ease up on me if I became their boss. That would be a tough transition to make, but I thought I could do it.

  Chief Elliott said something completely different.

  “You applied for the new peak hours station.”

  “Uhh, sir?”

  “The new station in Hialeah. It’s designed to run only at peak hours, in 12 hour shifts. You applied.” He gestured with a form that looked like it had my signature scrawled at the bottom.

  Ohh. I remember now.

  It was two years ago when I’d first graduated from the Fire Academy. All firefighters started on a 6-12 month probationary period before being sent to permanent stations. I applied to that new station because it was closer to my apartment at the time. It couldn’t hurt since there was zero chance of me getting in, right? That was before I knew what I was doing.

  Before I’d made this station my home.

  “Bureaucracy moves at a glacial pace,” Elliott said bluntly. “The station is finally complete and you’ve been chosen to be part of the first four-person shift. Congratulations.”

  He rose and extended his hand. After a moment, I shook it.

  “Sir, I think there’s been a mistake.”

  He paused while closing the folder. “Oh? Are you not the best firefighter at this station?”

  I was. I knew it, the rest of my unit knew it, and everyone else in the damn station knew it. I was the alpha dog. While others were spending their off days playing videogames or relaxing, I picked up the extra chores around the station, or exercised until my arms and legs felt like lead. I busted my ass.

  “I try to be the best,” I said, hoping I sounded humble. “But the problem is…”

  “Problem?” The man who was four or five spots above me in the Miami Fire Department hierarchy fixed me with a hard stare. “Being selected for this program is a great honor, Pederson. I was personally involved in the selection process, which was thorough and exhaustive. It would be embarrassing for us—and the new peak hours program itself—to have to go back and select someone else. Declining this offer would be what I call a CLM: Career Limiting Move. So I ask you again: is there a problem?”

  This was happening very fast. He was informing me as if it were already done, rather than a choice I had in the matter. I didn’t want to leave the station. I didn’t want to make a decision right now.

  But how could I say no?

  “No problem at all,” I managed to get out. “I’m honored.”

  “Fantastic. I’ll have my assistant forward the new assignment to your Lieutenant.”

  He left the office and then the station without another word. I walked back to the others feeling like I’d been punched in the gut.

  “Well?” Vazquez asked.

  I sat down and chugged the rest of my beer.

  “Shit. Looks like she did get fired.”

  “Worse,” I said, slamming the bottle back down. “I got promoted.”

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  Cassie Cole is a Reverse Harem Romance writer living in Norfolk, Virginia. A polygamist/polyamorist at heart, she thinks Romance is best when served in threes, fours, and fives!

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