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

condoms in my pocket every day. My background investigation slid through with ease.
    However, that was only the beginning. The hiring process almost shredded me—tests from a written examination to physical agility and even an oral interview. I failed one of the tests the first time, didn’t give up, and succeeded the second time.
    I made it through. More problems came. It took me a long time to understand the technical parts of the job like equipment operation and building construction, but I did it. I’d worked hard and had it all—the house, healthy kids, and loving support of my family. I had it all.
    I just didn’t have the lady.
    In my twenties, I never thought like that. The only shit that ran through my mind was sports, breasts, and the funny things that happened whenever they did. Now the numbers started increasing for my age, and my family’s elders began to look much older than they should. They were getting scary old. . . like. . .I might have to move people into my house. . .old.
    It made me nervous. Like the party wouldn’t last forever. Like there’d be a time when I looked in the mirror and didn’t recognize my face under the wrinkles and gray eyes. I wasn’t afraid to die. I was, however, terrified to be old, alone, and full of regret.
    I’d done it all—jumped out of air planes, dived in the deep sea, flew to other countries and slept with their sexiest natives.
    But, what I’d never done was fall in love.
    What am I going to do with you, Miss Kassie?
    I took out the volunteer form and stared at it. I’d already memorized her address. A large part of me wanted to drive by her house.
    This is getting weird.
    I asked her for her number and she started talking about cutting my dick off. What would she do if I called her out of nowhere?
    Kassie had problems. The scars of divorce were still fresh and raw.
    I’d been through the ugliness of divorce, crying every night, fucking anything that breathed, and drinking more than I should. The loss of my marriage peeled away at my sanity. I had twin girls, just toddlers who never remembered the household where their mother and I had done our best to love them.
    But, it would’ve been one thing, if my ex-wife, Cicely, had been a good mother or even a decent woman. But, she’d always had problems.
    Back when we met, I’d believed I could save Cicely. We’d met at Peek-a-Boo strip club. She danced for me all night, while I got wasted. When the club closed, we stumbled toward a cab. I was too drunk to drive, and she was too wasted to care. To the cabbie’s surprise, she gave me a blowjob during the ride home. We barely knew each other’s name, but spent the rest of the weekend together, between hot sheets and mingled wet limbs.
    I thought it was instant love, when it was only lust.
    She had a fit body and cute personality; although I thought, she yelled at our servers too much and was a bit rude to strangers. I overlooked the signs for the swing of her hips and the sex in her smile.
    By the fourth date, she was asking me for money. Something tingled at my gut, but I ignored the feeling and gave her the funds. On the fifth date, she moved into my place or really, she just spent the night one time and never left. She continued to dance, but I never saw any money. She never offered to pay a bill or even took the check for the many restaurants we frequented. Still, I didn’t mind.
    There were things about her that reminded me of myself, and made me want to take care of her. Like me, nightmares had plagued her sleep. And on the nights, when I’d wake up screaming from a dream about burnt bodies piled around me, she’d hold me close to her and rock me back to sleep. And, for her, I did the same. I never knew what she screamed about, just that it hurt her enough that she’d have to borrow some money and leave for a few hours.
    I wasn’t a fool. I knew she did drugs. But, I didn’t ask questions. I didn’t want to deal with the reality of my fun toy. I was