Free When the Smoke Clears (Interracial Firefighter Romance) by Kenya Wright Page A

loved watching the fights. Oh, man. Double dating was fun with him. That’s why God gave Lou twin daughters. All that bad karma from back in the day.”
    I shrugged. “I’ve learned a lot. Any time you invite more than one chick to the party, you’re going to have a wild night with the police involved. And that’s not a metaphor.”
    “Metaphor?” Merck snorted. “You and your big words.”
    “I need big words to go with my big cock.” I winked at him and walked off to my car. “Remember, young ones. Stay positive. Read books. And never talk to more than one woman at a time. That’s how you survive your twenties.”
    “Hold up.” Rockstar lifted one hand. “How many women you messing with right now, Merck?”
    The crazy man replied, “Seven women.”
    I twisted my face in shock and glanced over my shoulder. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.”
    “No,” Merck laughed. “More like, three Keishas, a Felicia, Cynthia, Vivian, and Brandy.”
    Rockstar dropped his bag. Worry creased the edges of his eyes. “First of all, what are you doing with three Keishas?”
    “What?” Merck held his hands out to his sides. “I love my sisters. Black women are beautiful.”
    “No,” Rockstar wagged his finger. “They’re my sisters, not yours. I’m black. You’re the very opposite of black in every way.”
    “They’re my sisters too,” Merck argued.
    “Eh whatever, man.” Rockstar picked up his bag. “All I know is one thing. Stop dating Keishas. They’re crazy. I’ve never met a sane Keisha in my life. Good in bed, but they will make you lose your mind.”
    “It’s too late. I’m already in love with the coco.”
    Rockstar and I exchanged glances.
    Merck shrugged. “What? I listen to rap too.”
    Chuckling, I opened my door and hopped in. “Goodnight, guys.”
    These were the great moments of my job. I’d had rough times in the past. It made me cherish the good days even more.
    All my life, I worked hard. I got my EMT certification early. I’d planned to ride ambulances for the rest of my life, but it didn’t stick. So, I looked at other careers where I could serve the public.
    My mom worked as a social counselor. She preached about the importance of helping others, and I hoped to dedicate my life to that philosophy.
    But, the police force didn’t excite me. Growing up as a mixed boy in a poor black neighborhood, I learned to fear the cops at an early age. By seven, I knew that if I spotted one, I should turn in the other direction, keep my hands out to the side, and my head straight like I was going somewhere. In my twenties, I was stopped all of the time, if I drove around in a rich neighborhood.
    I knew men on the force. I understood their hardships and how in some of the blocks that they worked in, many of the residents saw them as an enemy. But, I could never put on the uniform. Never speak the oath. It didn’t sit right with the problems I still had with some of their procedures.
    When I turned twenty-one, I volunteered with the American Red Cross and met fire service professionals. We partied after hours and I discovered that a real brotherhood existed among them.
    I ached to be a part of that sort of gang. A band of brothers helping people and having a blast while doing it. The next year, I took fire technology classes at Manatee community college, banging several hot chicks at the time, and managed to make my mothers and sisters proud. Truthfully, Mom would’ve been happy if I was cooking fries in McDonalds. By then, most of the guys in my neighborhood had gone to jail or died. Barely fifty percent of my classmates made it to post-secondary colleges or joined the military. The rest withered away in the bricked community of poverty and depression.
    I maintained a clean lifestyle as much as I could. Although, I had a bad temper and pounded several of my sister’s ex-boyfriends' faces into the ground, I never was arrested, not even a traffic ticket. I didn’t mess with drugs and kept three