I open my mouth to say no, but he widens his eyes into big puppy dog eyes and sticks out his lip.
“Please, Chief,” he begs, and I groan, knowing it’s impossible to say no now.
Growling, I swipe my cell phone off my desk and stomp over to where he’s standing, stopping in front of him and narrowing my eyes. “You’re worse than a child. Do you know that?”
He shrugs, unaffected by my mood. “Maybe, but it got you out of your office, didn’t it?”
With a flash of his teeth, he backpedals out of the room and takes off running toward one of the pickup trucks waiting outside beforeI can change my mind. I follow him, grumbling about the rookie as I walk out to where the other guys are sitting, watching television. Shane is leaning back in a recliner, his arm propped behind his head, and I smack it as I walk by. He jumps, and I glare down at him.
“Next time just give the kid a break and go with him,” I half-heartedly chide, but he just chuckles.
“I wouldn’t have been able to see that annoyed look on your face if I’d done that, Chief,” he says, continuing to laugh as he turns up the volume on the television so he can’t hear my response.
Shaking my head, I offer him one more glare before grabbing the keys and marching out.
The store is only a couple streets over, and it takes us no time to get there. It’s a good thing, too, because if it had taken any longer, I would have stopped and made Zane walk. Within the two-minute drive, he’d changed the radio station a total of ten times, never letting anything play more than a couple of seconds.
I pull into the parking lot and cut the engine as fast as I can, hopping out before Zane has his seat belt unbuckled, but in no time, he’s caught up to me, skipping through the parking lot and ignoring all the stares he’s drawing.
“So, Chief, what are you cooking us for lunch?”
I throw him a side-eye.
“New rule—rookie cooks every meal,” I say, not meaning it. We are a team at the firehouse, and everyone has their assigned duties. No one is above anyone else, and we all chip in. It’s the most basic part of building camaraderie. When we step into a fire, we have to know the other guys will have our backs, and if we can’t trust them to do something as simple as vacuum the floors, how can we trust them with our lives? Not everyone understands that, especially those who have never been or had spouses who are firemen, but my guys get it—and I’d never mess with that process.
Zane slaps me on the back, and I grit my teeth. “You’re funny, Chief.”
Sighing, I give in. “Fine. What will it be?”
“I’m thinking steak,” Zane says as we walk through the door. “Rib-eyes, maybe?”
He looks at me from the corner of his eye with a sheepish grin, and I give him a look that saysdream on.
“Fine,” he says dejectedly, “I guess burgers work, too.”
I slap him on the shoulder like he had me moments before. “Good choice. You grab some stuff for sides, and I’ll grab the meat.”
He salutes me and takes off toward the opposite side of the store. With him gone, I head toward the meat coolers, only to run into someone.
“Hey,” a voice calls, “watch where you’re going.”
I grunt and step back to apologize to whoever I’ve run over, only to find myself face to face with one of my baseball players.
“Hey, Morgan. Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to bowl you over. I wasn’t paying attention.”
“Obviously,” he grumbles, shoving something into his pocket before I can get a good look, but I’ve been around long enough to know what a vape looks like.
“What’s in your pocket, Morgan?” I ask, my brows snapping down.
His jaw tightens, but he avoids my gaze. “Nothing. Mind your business, man.”
“Kid, you’re one of my players. You are my business, especially if you’re abusing any substances—including nicotine. Tell me you’re not, kid. Please tell me you’re not.”
Waves of tension radiate off his shoulders, and his eyes dart around as if searching for someone.
“I’m not on anything. Now, will you move?” he asks, his gaze landing on something behind me and going wide.
Turning my head, I look over my shoulder and tense when I seewho’s walking toward us.
