Free Ballistic by K.S. Adkins Page A

on a good day, but it seems it’s better to have too many that not enough, kind of like ammo, dental floss and tampons. While my truck is filling up my phone rings and it’s Jules.
    “L o.”
    “Where are you?”
    “Just finished at a scene, getting gas, then I’ve got dinner plans.”
    “I like it,” she says , laughing “Anyone I know?”
    “Anthony Gallo,” I tell her casually . “I’m working a few leads for him.”
    “You know Max needs his help . Lina this is dangerous.”
    “Dinner and I’m out, Red. This isn’t my first day on the job.”
    “You’re good where you are , then? You know I’ll get you out.”
    “I’m good,” I tell her . “I’ve got this.”
    “You trust him?”
    “I don’t know him Red. I just met the guy.”
    “Oh.”
    “So how’s the reunion?”
    “He’s just a job.”
    “You don’t even try to lie well,” I say, laughing and putting the nozzle back. “You don’t love him, Jules?”
    “No,” she says , with a smile in her voice. “I don’t love him. Not even a little bit.”
    Disconnecting with her , I smile to myself while I drive off. Jules loves Max to distraction. Always has, always will. After chain smoking all the way back to his place, I pull in his drive, grab my bag and head in. The house smells amazing and fuck me, but he’s wearing an apron.
    This just gets better and better.

“I pretend to look around, but I was actually looking at you.”
    All these weeks of pretending to be out walking, looking in windows, staying out of her way and now if she shows , she’d be allowing me to cook for her. This surpassed even my own expectations. I had hoped I could win her help, but now I want to win her heart. I want to win all of her. This was a game I refused to lose. I also feared it was a game she refused to play.
    A cting like I do this all the time, I wipe my hands on my apron and take her bag. She’s staring like she’s never seen a man in an apron before, but at least she looks entertained by it. Men wearing aprons probably isn’t popular, but I am a messy cook so I went this route instead of ruining my clothes. My mother loved my father in an apron, maybe she will too. Leaning in to kiss her rosy cheek, I inhale her again. This time she smells like fresh air and cigarettes. Fucking beautiful.
    “ I’ll go fix my lipstick, I won’t be gone long, Killer. I’ll call you Killer ‘cause you slay me.” she says, laughing at her own joke, thinking I don’t get it.
    “And I’m calling you Bellevue,” I deliver in my best Ralph Kramden voice . “Cause you’re nuts!”
    She blinks , but doesn’t laugh. Oh shit! I just called her nuts. “Lina, I didn’t mean it to sound---”
    “You know ‘The Honeymooner’s’?” she asks in a quiet voice.
    “My parent’s loved the reruns,” I tell her in my own quiet voice. Then in an instant the look of wonder leaves her face, replaced by the concrete walls of her fortress.
    Kicking her shoes off, she sets them by the back door, opens the refrigerator, grabs a bottle of wine and works on opening it, pouring it and taking a seat. She’s comfortable enough at least to feel at ease in my kitchen, that is a start. Who am I kidding? She’s probably only here for the alcohol, but I’ll take it.
    “What’s cookin?”
    “Just your typical spaghetti, meatballs and French bread.”
    “There is nothing typical about what you’ve got going on here,” she says , coming over to look. Putting some sauce on a spoon for a taste, I offer it to her. She takes it by closing her eyes to savor it. “Oh god, Anthony, that’s nirvana. Whoever taught you to cook loved you a lot .” When I don’t answer because I’m too busy hoping my cock isn’t busting out from beneath the apron and soaking up her praise, she tries getting my attention again. “Anthony?”
    “Sorry,” I say , stirring the sauce again. “I’ve never had a woman here. I’m just taking you in.”
    “You’re telling the truth,” she