Page 13 of The Wild Fire


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“Okay. So, why not just go for it? You’ve been chief deputy sheriff for two years now. The entire town loves you. They’ll definitely vote you in. Plus, everybody’s sick of Mayor Thompson and his shit. You probably wouldn’t even need to campaign. It couldn’t get any easier.”

“Not interested,” I clip.

“Why not? A few years ago, all you would do is talk about running and now—”

“I just don’t want it anymore,” I spit out defensively. “Lay off it, would you?”

This is the last thing I want to talk about. I think I’d be less annoyed if he’d just go ahead and stomp on my damn bunion.

Mason’s hand shoots up in surrender. “Just making small talk, man.” He drops his eyes to the reading material in his lap and grumbles peevishly. “I was sitting here, reading my journal, minding my business…”

Sighing, I stare off into space, trying to get a handle on my sour mood. But it’s not my fault that he touched a sore subject of mine.

My desire to run for the mayorship of Honey Hill lost its appeal right around the same time I lost everything else that mattered to me. Now,the idea of running for mayor is history. Just like the idea ofher.

Over. Gone. Irrelevant.

But that’s no excuse to go around being an asshole to everyone.

“What’s up with the medical journal thing, Dr. Westbrook?” I flick the corner of his document, injecting a bit of lightness into my voice.

He makes a sound of annoyance. “Staff meeting at the clinic next week. One of our patients has a really bad case of the Sin Valley itch. It’s resisting the antibiotics. Nobody can figure out why. Anyway, I’m thinking that if I at least show up with something half-intelligent to say, my asshole boss might stop giving me the stink-eye for taking a few days off to go to the wedding.”

My brows rise up. “He still giving you a hard time?”

“The fucking worst,” my cousin gripes. “It’s like the guy’s going through a mid-life crisis or something. He was having an affair with one of the secretaries at the clinic. A few weeks back, she dumped him and told all the staff that his dick smells like Greek yogurt onion dip.”

I snort-laugh. “That’s specific. And disturbing.”

Mason’s laugh is dry and mirthless. “Ever since then, the man’s a nightmare. He’s been walking around like he has a lamppost up his ass. All I know is he’s really had it out for me the past few weeks.”

“Shit, man,” I say sympathetically. “All the more reason for you to kick back and relax tonight.”

He throws an untrusting glance at the girls on stage before his eyes return to his journal. “Depends on your definition of ‘relax’.”

“You’re a single man. Shouldn’t you be looking for someone to go home with?”

This is me, being a hypocrite. I’m not interested in tonight’s adult entertainment, either. But Mason doesn’t know that. One of the perks of being tight-lipped about my relationship status.

He scoffs. “Trust me—after my last ‘episode’ with Zara, I’m just enjoying being a single man. The headache-free life is underrated.”

My cousin has been on this toxic relationship seesaw with his on-again, off-again girlfriend for years now. Every single time they break up, he swears he’ll never go back to her. Yet every single time, he somehow ends up back in her grip.

I’m starting to think that the only way he’ll truly break free of that woman is if he packs up and moves to another hemisphere.

An entertainer wearing nothing but a thong and some fuzzy cat ears struts toward our corner of the room, her naked breasts bouncing in rhythm with the loud country music.

“I hear you’re the lucky groom,” she purrs, approaching Cash and leaning down. “How about a lap dance, sweetie?” Her tongue darts out, licking a slow circle across her lips.

He jolts when she gets too close. His neck rears back. “How about a lawsuit?” he barks back.

She stops in her tracks, eyes darting to the rest of us. When we make no moves to offer her an alternate lap, she turns red.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” the angry stripper screams.

“Not a thing.” Cash shrugs, his jaw flexing. “Just not a fan of sexual harassment,sweetie.”

She stomps her stiletto. “Then why the hell are you at a strip club if you don’t wanna see strippers, you asshole?!” She doesn’t notice her cat ears tipping to the side. She’s kind of starting to look less like a sexy cat and more like a scary unicorn.

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