If he said yes.
“Good, because you aren’t the kind of person who treads lightly, and Adam is smooth,” Emerson said. “He’s even figured out how to sweet-talk me from time to time, and I don’t do sweet.” Emerson sounded horrified at the admission. “You, on the other hand, are so sweet you make Disney movies look seedy. You collect people like others collect stamps, but don’t mistake Adam’s easygoing charm for more than it is, because he isn’t looking to be collected.”
He was too bright and shiny for Harper’s taste anyway.
“Strike!”
Swearing, Adam loosened up on the bat and stepped out of the batter’s box at the umpire’s call. It was the bottom of the ninth, two outs, and the bases were loaded. SHFD was tied with the sheriff’s department, which was why they’d called in Adam.
He was the closer—on and off the diamond. Something he needed to remember.
“Come on, man, it’s like you’re not even trying,” Jonah heckled from the mound.
A former homicide detective for the San Francisco Police Department, Jonah had traded in his big-city problems to become the keeper of Mayberry. He also liked to keep tabs on his younger brothers—and give them shit when necessary. Which was why he turned the bill of his hat around backward, so Adam could clearly make out his smug grin, when he shouted, “I mean, that was right up the middle.”
“A gnat was buzzing around my ear,” Adam said, shooting a look at Dax, who was also grinning smugly beneath his catcher’s mask. “Next time, I’ll just squash him.”
“Someone’s sensitive,” Dax said, throwing the ball to the mound, not the least bit intimidated by Adam’s threat. Not that he should be. Dax might be the baby boy of the family, but he had a good three inches and fifty pounds on both his brothers. And he knew it.
Adam kicked the dirt up, then stepped back in the box and choked up on the bat. Focusing on Jonah’s hand, he slowed his breathing until he felt his heart rate drop and his mind begin to settle—and all he saw was the ball.
Jonah pulled back and Adam watched as the ball slid off his finger, right up the center and—
“I mean, I would be too if a pretty girl wouldn’t return my calls,” Dax said, blowing Adam’s concentration.
“Strike two,” the umpire called.
Adam glared down at his brother, wondering if he’d be expelled from the game for punching a member of the opposing team in the nuts.
“I’m just saying that new picture on Facebook is a pretty big sign that you struck out big-time on closing that deal.” Dax flipped his mask up and laughed. Adam clenched his jaw. “No way. You haven’t even seen it, have you?”
“Nope.” He’d been too busy trying to figure out why he’d gone in for the save yesterday.
Adam might be a firefighter by trade, but in his personal life he didn’t do the savior act. Never had. Being someone’s personal hero only led to complications and disappointment. And he’d delivered enough disappointment in his lifetime. Yet, when he’d normally pull back, with Harper he’d stayed. Gotten involved.
The shit of it was he’d do it all over again, if it meant saving her from another humiliating moment with Dr. Dumbass. Yup, Harper with her coat-of-many-colors fashion, bright smile, and big doe eyes got to him. Bad.
Then again, maybe he was the dumbass in question. Watching Harper flutter around the bleachers, greeting every person she came across like they were an old friend, he knew going any further with her would be an exercise in extreme stupidity. They were a train wreck in the making, yet he couldn’t seem to stay away.
Instead of focusing on what was important—cleaning up his reputation—he’d somehow missed Baby posting a new photo of her in his jacket. Which took his current situation from annoying to disastrous. When Roman found out, and he would, he’d blow off Adam’s left nut.
And if Lowen found out, he’d blow any hope Adam had for making lieutenant right out the fire station door.
“I’ve called Baby a dozen or more times,” he admitted. “I can’t get hold of her.”
“Man, that’s rough,” Dax said, shaking his head. “Wanting some kind of closure and only getting radio silence? Total dick move.”
“I don’t want closure, I just want my jacket back,” Adam clarified and, sure, at the first signs of complication or drama he simplified things by dumping plan A and moving on to plan B, and eventually plans C, D, and E when necessary. But he always made sure when it ended there were no hard feelings. So what if he’d avoided a few calls from time to time in his day? That didn’t make him a dick.
That made him smart. Although he didn’t feel so smart right then.
“Her generation texts,” Dax explained as if he were slow. “Did you try that?”
Adam’s face went slack. “Her generation? How old is she?”