Chapter Thirty-Two
Spencer
Iguess I’m a criminal now.
Operation Get-Grinder-Back is a whole-ass thing, and because Parker came up with the plan, almost every facet of it has something illegal peeking out. Between the trespassing, the alarming number of weapons—military grade, of course—and the destruction of property, I refuse to do the math on the number of years I could face in prison.
And I haven’t even touched on my favorite crime…a class H felony. I wish it stopped there but alas, if I’m caught, I’d be facing up to twenty-five months in prison.
Me. The guy who wants to save lives is about to flush all of his dreams down the toilet because he’s in love.
Of all the dumb reasons in the world, it had to be the cliché.
It doesn’t matter though because I’m doing it. I’m stealing an ambulance from the station, then transporting illegally obtained weapons with known felons. Fun times.
The club assured me they’d have my back and I believe they mean it. That’s not the problem. My worry is that shit never goes to plan, not in my world.
Maybe this time it’ll be perfect. After all, these guys know what they’re doing.
“Condom for your fantasies?” Salem’s ridiculous question snaps me out of my inner musings.
“What?” I can feel the deep frown in my forehead as I give her a quick glance.
There’s a big softball game tonight and traffic is horrendous. UNC-Rockford Beach is having an amazing start to the season so people are showing up in support of the team. It’s great for them but sucks for us.
“Just trying to get your attention. You’ve ignored every single one of my questions.” She’s right, I’m so far into my head that I didn’t even realize she was talking, let alone asking me anything.
“Sorry, just thinking about our last pick up.” It’s my go-to response when I zone out.
“The guy who called 9-1-1 because he thought his dog was depressed?” Shit. Was that our last call?
“Yeah, you know, that’s a misdemeanor misuse of the 9-1-1 system. It’s illegal.”
Salem scoffs at me, clearly not impressed.
“The guy was like a hundred years old. If they charge him, I’ll protest.” Again, she’s not wrong.
“Okay. That still doesn’t explain your whole condom thing.”
The entire time we’re talking, she’s on her phone, typing and smiling. It’s like she’s doing three things at once, not missing a single beat. As a late millennial I can appreciate the way this rising generation is dealing with the world. Hell, we’re not that different, Salem and me, and knowing that multitasking is a viable soft skill means we’re winning on all fronts.
“Shock factor.” Two words. That’s all it takes for me to laugh and forget the fact I’m about to fuck up my life forever. Unless, of course, I get shit done right.
“I guess it worked, then.” I turn into the station, the clock on the dash signaling twenty-five minutes before the end of shift. By the time I get the paperwork done, it will probably be closer to half past, given the sheer number of calls tonight. On the plus side, the roads won’t be so crowded since everyone will be at the actual game.
Once we park, Salem places one hand on my arm and waits for me to give her all of my attention. “You’re okay, right?”
Ugh, I hate lying to people. Not just because I’m horrible at it, but because it feels horrible to deceive those I care about.
“Yeah, just…” Screw it, I’m going to give her a nugget. They always say that lying is best when there’s truth to it. “I’m in love. It’s a whole thing.”
I can feel my cheeks blushing and I realize it’s the first time I’ve actually said those words out loud to another person.
“I love that for you.” Salem squeezes my arm, then hops out of the rig. That’s it. That’s the entirety of the conversation. Quick, easy, and painless.
Now’s the hard part.
Salem sits with me as I do the reports, helping me with the finer details since my brain was clearly checked out for most of our shift.