Charge to My LineBy: Lani Lynn Vale
I’d like to once again thank FuriousFotog for taking this beautiful photo of Shawn Dawson. And Shawn Dawson for allowing this photo to be taken. I freakin’ LOVE it! You two made magic together.
To Asli, my editor. Thank you again for all that you do for me. You’re the best.
You’re the Charge…
Bad Boy. Screw-up. Good for nothing. Hero. Angel. These were all words Grayson ‘Torren’ Trammel had heard whispered behind his back over his lifetime. What he hadn’t heard was ‘quitter,’ and he’d be damned if some little rehab chick, with her beautiful brown hair, and hot, sassy little mouth was going to label him as such.
Tru knows Grayson’s not for her. He’s too bad. Too hot. Too demanding. Too taken.
She tells herself that almost daily as she helps Grayson get back into fighting shape after a horrific accident nearly ripped his life away from him. That had taken the life of one of the men in his MC.
Grayson is everything her father warned her about, but there’s just something about him that intrigues her. That makes her want more.
The man’s a firefighter. How bad could he be?
Apparently, he could be way worse than bad, but he could also be so very, very good. Something Tru realizes, rather quickly, when the two can no longer fight the pull that’s between them.
Now there’s only one word she wants to hear when it comes to him: his.
It’s all fun and games until your jeans don’t button anymore.
Three months prior
“I dare you to go up and hug that fireman. Wrap your legs around his waist,” Iliana challenged me.
I looked to where she was gesturing and rolled my eyes. “No.”
I was trying to have a relaxing drink at the newest restaurant and bar in town, Halligans and Handcuffs. What I wasn’t trying to do was draw attention to myself; especially, in a room filled with my mother’s colleagues.
“Oh, come on, you big chicken. Balk. Balk. Balk,” she clucked.
I shook my head again. “All you’re doing is making yourself sound like a dork.”
Seriously, why did the woman have to embarrass me? I averted my eyes as the tables around us started to turn and study Iliana.
Just pour a few drinks in the woman, and she became the queen of obnoxious.
She smiled widely. “Oh, come on. Do it.”
I took a pull of my beer and looked at the man she was wanting me to hug.
He was tall. He’d dwarf my five and a half feet easily.
“What will you give me if I do?” I asked as I took another sip of beer, keeping my eye on the man with the shaved dark hair, dressed in his fire department blues.
Large, mouthwatering biceps. Arms that were covered from wrist to where his sleeve stopped in tattoos. Strong, angular chin. Slightly crooked nose. Deep toe curling laugh.
“Whatever you want,” Iliana promised holding up her pinky finger in the air with a dare.
Knowing exactly what I’d take if she actually held up her end of the bargain, I smiled.
I took her pinky finger, and we kissed our hands one by one.
“Deal,” I said and stood.
“What are you going to take?” She asked warily, knowing I’d given up too easily.
Iliana was my best friend and roommate.
We’d moved in together when we’d started occupational therapy school, and had been living together ever since.
She was two years younger than my twenty eight, but acted like she was fifty, that is, unless she was drinking, like she was doing right now.
In real life, she was that boring person who never did anything because she was too scared her boyfriend would find out that she actually had fun without him.
And the way she acted didn’t say twenty six. It screamed old.
For instance, she had a Tempur-Pedic bed that sat up like a hospital bed…and it was about to become mine.
“Your bed. For two weeks,” I said with an evil grin.
She glared at me. “If you do it, it’s yours for a month. His name’s Torren.”
Downing the remainder of my beer, I started walking off purposefully in the man’s direction. Torren, she’d said his name was. That was a weird name. Who named their kid Torren?
Why not Paul, or Brian? Those were normal names. Then again, my name was different, too.