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I throw a glance toward the far end of the hall. Even though I’m alone, I still stand and walk toward the sleeping quarters, which are most likely empty this time of day.
“Because yes, the kiss was great, but not seconds after it ended, he regretted it.” Hurrying, I give her the abridged version of what happened on that sidewalk.
The silence is deafening when I finish my wrap-up. I pull the phone away from my ear to make sure the call didn’t drop, but no. The line is still open.
“Noni?”
“I don’t care how beautiful that muthafucka is, he’s gonna have to see me for hurting you,” she snaps.
Despite the situation and my run-in with Matt, I laugh, the love for my friend and her unmitigated loyalty pumping warmth through me and temporarily nudging aside the mortification and anger.
That loyalty almost has me spilling the truth about Matt. But one, she’s crazy. And she don’t play about me. I’d arrive at work to find Matt hemmed up against the nearest engine. First, I don’t need those kinds of problems, and neither does she, being a teacher an’ all. Second, Noni has never held her tongue about her concern over my returning to work so soon. As much as I love my bestie, she can’t fully grasp my love of firefighting. Keshaun did. Always. That’s why, beyond being my lover, he’d been my other best friend. The one whom I rarely had to complete a full sentence with. Because he knew. Heknew. Trying to replace that connection, even with Noni, feels ... disloyal, somehow.
It doesn’t make sense. Not even to me. But I also can’t deny how I feel.
Without conscious thought, I brush my fingers over Keshaun’s Saint Florian medal, wishing, not for the first time, I had him here to touch instead of his cold silver necklace.
“I’m serious,” Noni insists, thankfully dragging me back from thoughts of Matt and Keshaun. But unfortunately, continuing on abouthim. “He, of all people, should understand the courage it took for you to do that, and he shits on it? Nope. Me and him? We got a problem. Has he even called or reached out about these pictures?”
I shake my head, even though she can’t possibly see the gesture. “No. Shit, I just found out this morning because of the crap they put on my locker. And from the short amount of time I spent with him, Solomon doesn’t strike me as the kind of person who trolls sites or googles his name. He probably doesn’t know.”
“Oh he knows,” Noni dryly says. “I agree he doesn’t seem like he gives a damn, but he most likely has PR people whose job is to be aware of everything that’s being said about him so they can either capitalize on it or go into damage-control mode. Nah, he knows,” she reiterates, then sucks her teeth. “Which makes it really fucked up that he hasn’t even called to check on you and see if you’re good.”
I step into the dorm-style room and close my eyes, telling myself I’m not bothered by Solomon’s silence. As a matter of fact, it falls inwith the behavior he’s shown me. Still ... I’m having a hard time convincing myself that I don’t care. Hell, if I’d been kissing Kyle on that sidewalk, no one would’ve given a damn, much less snuck pictures of us. It’s because of who and what he is that this is news and worthy of being plastered across tabloid sites. So, really, this is his fault.
Hell, right now with how I’m feeling,everythingis his fault. From Eve biting that apple to global warming.
Asshole.
“Well, it is what it is.” I shrug. “I’m sure this will blow over pretty quickly. I mean, it was a kiss, not full-on public fucking. Besides, yeah, he’s an athlete, but it’s not like he’s Gronk.” Damn, how I miss Gronkowski. The Patriots could really use him now. But anyhoo ... “I give this a day before people are on to the next story.”
“Okay, babe,” Noni says, but I can’t miss the skepticism practically dripping from her voice. “If you say so.”
“I do. Watch. You’ll see. Everyone will forget about this.”
Oh my God. Why haven’t people forgotten about this?
I frown at the man hovering across the street from the firehouse. The camera hanging around his neck announces his identity. I clench my jaw until my temple throbs. I’m so sick of this shit. It was bad enough that two or three of them showed up on calls all yesterday, shouting questions at me and snapping pictures while I worked. They were a distraction and pains in the ass, not just to me but to my team. And though it isn’t my fault, I still feel responsible. If not for those pictures ...
“Shit,” I growl, pushing out the door and stepping onto the back lot.
It’s the end of my shift, and all I want is to get home, eat breakfast, shower, and get into bed. In that order. But I have to deal with anosy-ass cameraman first. And after their rude and relentless intrusion over the past twenty-four hours, I’m so not in the fucking mood.
“Hold up, Dina.” Malcolm appears at my side, cupping my elbow. I glance at my brother, and his gaze is narrowed on the reporter. “Fucking vultures,” he mutters, guiding me forward even as he shifts his big body so he’s partially shielding me from the camera that is already raised and fixed on us. “I can’t believe that’s a job that someone actually wants.”
“I’m sorry, Malcolm.” I sigh. One of my biggest pet peeves is when women apologize for others’ shitty behavior, carrying and accepting blame that’s not theirs. And here I am, doing just that. Another reason to hope Solomon gets a puck to the face. “I really thought this would be old news by now.”
“What’re you apologizing for? Are you the one over there violating someone’s privacy and being a whole-ass nuisance? No. So cut that out.”
“I know, but—”
“Nobuts.” He marches forward but tosses a look at me over his shoulder. “This isn’t on you. But we are gonna have a talk about you kissing that muthafucka. Bet on that. The fuck, Dina. After everything he said at dinner? You should be beating his ass, not tonguing it down.”
“Malcolm, really?” Yeah, I’m not having that conversation. Ever.
“Yes,really. That’s the—ay, get the fuck away from her car and outta my way.” Malcolm abruptly stops in his tracks, and I almost bump into him.
Peeking around Malcolm’s wide shoulders, I spy a huge white guy dressed in a black shirt and jeans. His dark hair is cut close to his head, and the short style emphasizes the strong, almost brutal lines of his face. Sunglasses shield his eyes, but I’d bet the stack of pancakes I’m about to destroy when I get home that his gaze is as sharp as the angle of his jaw.
