Cuffed

by K. Bromberg

  “How’s your studying going?” Betsy asks Grant, seemingly oblivious to the brief meeting of the eyes between Grant and his father.

  “Good. I’m as ready as can be, but you know how it goes, there’s always politics involved,” he replies.

  “Just remember, sometimes the high road can mean lying low,” Chief Malone murmurs, piquing my interest.

  “Once an asshole, always an asshole,” Grayson chimes in, and I get the sense they are all talking about someone in particular, I just have no idea who. Even more peculiar is Betsy’s lack of a reprimand over Grayson’s comment, since over the course of dinner, most curse words were met with her rebuke.

  No one can say this family doesn’t have each other’s backs.

  “I have stronger words than that—”

  “But you have a lady present,” Betsy interrupts and gives Grant a warning glare.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Grant makes a show of looking properly reprimanded, which has his brothers snickering.

  “Competition is healthy when going for a promotion,” she says in the most motherly of tones, “even if that competition is a self-serving prick.”

  Everyone’s eyes widen as they look back and forth at each other to make sure their mother really just said that before bursting out into laughter over her unexpected comment.

  “You have a lady present,” Grant mimics her.

  “Yes, well, I’m sure Emmy’s heard those terms before, haven’t you, dear?” She pats my hand and smiles wider.

  “So, Emerson,” Chief Malone says. “Grant tells me you are buying Blue Skies out at Miner’s Airfield.”

  “I’m trying to,” I say. “After traveling for so long, it’s finally time to put some roots down. It’s been an adjustment staying in one place for this long, but it’s a good change. Blue Skies has been neglected for a while now so I’m enjoying breathing life back into it. Now I just can’t wait to make it mine. Fingers and toes crossed I get loan approval.”

  “You always were up for a challenge,” Betsy says as she puts another piece of chocolate cake on my plate without my having to ask. “Eat up. You always loved dessert . . . but jumping out of airplanes? Really?”

  There’s something about the way she references how I used to be with such nonchalance that makes it ring in my ears. When Grant mentioned the same thing at Desi’s, it made me uneasy. He was revealing a small part of my past to people unfamiliar with it. But this, Betsy bringing it up in the one place that was my safe haven, feels different to me. It’s almost comforting to know I existed to someone when I was a child and that they remember me. Moving on a whim and living like a gypsy, often doesn’t afford you that feeling.

  “Emerson subscribes to the living-safely-is-dangerous theory,” Grant interjects as he bumps his knee against mine beneath the table.

  “Well, if you’re with that asshole”—Grady gestures to Grant—“then you definitely like to live dangerously. He isn’t known to be one who sticks around longer than the quick—”

  “Grady Malone,” Betsy warns in that tone that brings a smile to my lips. “You know better than to talk that way when someone brings a guest over. Your father and I did not raise unmannerly heathens.”

  “Sorry, Mom,” he says with no sincerity before looking at me. “See? Nothing has changed. We still bicker constantly like we did when we were kids. We’re just older and the insults are more brutal.”

  That’s the first time our collective past has been put out there in the open, causing an uncomfortable silence. Luckily, I’ve had enough wine that the mention doesn’t trip me up like it might have if I were completely sober.

  “Is it sad that I remember that? The names you used to call each other and how when your mom called you by your full name, it meant you really were in trouble,” I say to try to ease the unspoken tension. “Being an only child, I never had to deal with that. The flip side was I couldn’t blame something on someone else either so my mom always knew if I was at fault.”

  “How is your mom doing, Emerson?” the chief asks, and Grant tenses beside me.

  “She passed away a few years back.”

  “Oh, Emmy,” the chief says. “I had no idea. If my eldest would have had proper manners and let me know that, then we would have known not to ask. I’m so very sorry.”

  “It’s okay. She was sick for a long time, and now her suffering is over.”

  “What made you decide to move back here to Sunnyville?” he continues.

  “Blue Skies.”

  And possibly your son.

  The thought has me lifting my fork and digging into the second piece of cake to clear the startling thought from my mind.

  But it’s true. I always knew that if I moved back I’d run into Grant Malone eventually.

  Hadn’t I wanted to?

  Hadn’t I always looked in every crowd, just in case I saw his face?

  “Well, whatever reason it may be, we’re glad to see you again,” Betsy says, breaking the sudden lull in conversation and patting my hand. “It’s like having my daughter back.”

  Those simple words are like resin being poured onto the cracks of my heart. A protective shield to ward off whatever lies ahead for it.

  There’s a crackling of a police scanner, and I smile at how all of them fall silent while codes are relayed over the radio. Their bodies still, heads all angle in the same mannerism that reflects they are related. Each so similar, yet so different.

  “You’re being rude, gentlemen,” Betsy says and meets my eyes. “It’s a full-time job keeping the Malone men in line and away from work when they’re off duty.”

  “Shame on us for saving lives,” Grady replies and has us all laughing.

  “Always the class clown,” Betsy mutters in jest as she stands up with her plate in her hand.

  “Can I help you clean up, Mom?” Grant asks as he scoots his chair back. “Emerson and I need to be getting back.”

  “I thought you were off tomorrow,” Grayson says.

  “I am, but I sprung this on Emerson without asking, so I’m sure she has other, more pressing things she needs to do.”

  Every part of me wants to reject what he’s saying. It doesn’t matter how much I didn’t want to come here, because now I don’t want to leave.

  There’s a feeling here I’ve missed for so very long.

  A feeling I craved in my childhood that this house—that this family—provided to me.

  Security.

  That isn’t an easy thing for normal people to find in this world, let alone people with a past like mine. It’s often fleeting and habitually false.

  It’s here and now that I’ve found it, I find that I’m scared to lose it.

  “Head up. Wings out. What does that mean?”

  I smile at Grant’s question and lean back on my hands as my legs dangle off the tailgate of Grant’s truck. “It was something my mom used to say to me. Originally, she told me that if I keep my head up and put on a brave face when I’m afraid, then the angels will put their wings out and use them to protect me.” I smile at the memory. “Over the years, it became shortened to head up, wings out. The first time I jumped, she made me carry it on a piece of paper in my pocket, as if it would ensure I made it safely back to the earth . . . so from then on, I said it before every jump. When she died, it kind of became my way of reminding myself she’s looking out for me. That it’s her angel wings keeping me safe.”

  “Head up. Wings out,” he murmurs. “I like that.”

  Silence falls between us for a few moments. “This is my favorite time of day to be here,” I muse as I stare at the lights of the runway

  “Why’s that?”

  “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.

  We sink into the kiss. There is no rush, just a sense that we are feeling each other out to see where we go from here.

  A part of me doesn’t want to know that answer.

  I just want to enjoy the moment.

  Live in the now.

  Forget the complications that being with Grant Malone could cause in my life.

  “Are we going to do this?” he murmurs against my lips.

  A long, slow, mesmerizing kiss that leaves me weak in the knees when weakness isn’t a thing I allow.

  “Do what?”

  A nip of my bottom lip.

  “Do this. You. Me. Friends.”

  A hand runs languorously up and down my spine before landing on my ass and pulling me tighter against him.

  “Friends don’t do this.”

  His chuckle is muted against my lips.

  “You and I have never been anything close to normal, Em.”

  A lick of his tongue against mine makes me press into him when he leans back.

  “You’re too sexy, and I’m too horny to walk away tonight without sleeping with you . . .” I murmur playfully. And truthfully.

  “You’re goddamn right . . . so is that a yes?”

  “Yes,” I grunt as his hand on my ass slides inside the waistband of my shorts.

  The thumb on his other hand brushes the underside of my breast. A tease. A taunt. A promise of what’s to come.

  “But there are rules,” I say before he goes to kiss me again, and I earn a chuckle as he rests his forehead against mine.

  “I thought we already covered them?”

  “We did, but—ahhh.”

  His teeth tug on my earlobe and cause an electric current to shock through my system.

  “You were saying?” His breath is warm against my skin as he asks.

  “Before was a one-night thing,” I say, but his lips on my neck are making it hard to string thoughts let alone coherent sentences together. “And now we’re agreeing to more.”

  “Em.” It’s part groan, part moan when his lips try to brush against mine as I take a step backward up the stairs. It’s only a fleeting moment that we’re apart before our mouths crash back together in a torrent of greed and need.

  “No romance.”

  It’s getting harder to remember the things I want to address as my body ignites with every kind of want imaginable.

  “Naturally.”

  He places open-mouthed kisses down the line of my jaw, drawing goose bumps over my skin as we take another step up.

  “No lovey-dovey.”

  “You’re not the lovey-dovey type.”

  He pulls gently on my earlobe, the heat of his mouth only intensifying the sensation as the ache intensifies between my thighs.

  “No overnights.”

  His hand slides beneath my shirt and begins working on the clasp of my bra as his lips close over the peak of my nipple through the fabric.

  “Not unless we’re doing this.”

  Another step up.

  “No dates. No dating. No semblance of dating.”

  “You’re talking too much,” His words are punctuated with a nip before his lips find mine again and his fingers find the button on my shorts.

  “Grant.” I step up to get away and stand my ground, but I know it’s for show. I’m too far gone, too lost in Lustville to push him away.

  “Yes. No dates. Or dating. Or eating. Or talking. Or whatever you want so long as you shut your mouth unless it’s kissing me and put your hand on my dick because,
baby, I’m dying here.”

  I lean back and meet his eyes. There’s humor there. And desperation.

  My fingers find the button on his jeans, and he groans when I find purchase. After I tug the zipper down, I cup him and gently scrape my fingers outside and over the seam of denim, causing the sexiest sound I’ve ever heard to emit from deep in his throat.

  “I know I’m forgetting something,” I say as my lips find the curve of his neck, and he climbs the final step.

  “Your keys. You’re forgetting your keys,” he says through a laugh as I go to pull my hand away from his dick, but his fingers are on my wrist in a flash. “That’s not going anywhere, Em. Give me the keys, I’ll open it.”

  In seconds, my keys are out of my purse and my door is open and we’re standing in the dark with my hand on his cock and my rules wedged securely between us.

  “No talking about our pasts. No sleeping with other people—just for safety’s sake—”

  “Woman, you could ask me to skydive and I’d say yes so long as I get to fuck you again. Shortly. Like in minutes.”

  He must be dead serious.

  I draw his shirt over his head and then pull mine off, my bra falling to the floor as I lean forward and suck one of his nipples.

  “More like seconds.” His voice is strained and his hands grip tighter on my arms.

  “This is such a mistake,” I groan as his hands slide into the waistband of my shorts and push them down.

  “Mm-hmm,” he says against my lips. “You can call the first time a mistake. The second time, it’s called a decision. Make the goddamn decision, Em. Please. Before I die of desperation.”

  I chuckle. “So dramatic.” I kiss him again and love how when I pull back, he leans forward to take more. It shows what I do to him. It shows he wants me. “No . . .” I can’t think of any more rules because his cock pulses against my hand, growing harder.