Page 296 of On A Manhunt: Complete Series

MAC

The next morning after my shift, I went in the house and headed straight for the kitchen. I could smell the coffee my dad had brewed.

On nights I worked, Dad stayed in the guest room, which was pretty much half the time. He liked to wake up early and have his coffee and read the paper before Andy stirred and the craziness of getting a first grader out the door for school began.

“Morning,” I said, unclipping my walkie talkie and setting it on the charger on the counter.

“Quiet night?” Dad asked. The paper was open and on the kitchen table, but his coffee mug was on the counter beside him.

He was putting together Andy’s lunch. A half a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, apple slices and cheese puffs were in plastic baggies.

A fruit roll-up was beside it along with a juice box.

“Chest pains around eleven,” I shared. “Carbon monoxide alarm at three. Everyone’s fine.”

“Good.”

I ran a hand over my eyes. Even though we had bunk rooms where we slept during the night, even simple calls took time and paperwork so I clocked about four hours of rest. I was ready for bed. I’d get about six hours before I had to do afternoon school pickup.

“Where’s Andy?”

They were leaving for school in about ten minutes. Dad would drop him off and then go on about his day, returning tomorrow morning when I was back on shift.

“Brushing his teeth. Or at least wetting his toothbrush.”

Andy’s cereal bowl was by the sink, but his orange juice cup got missed when he cleared his dishes from the table.

As if perfect timing, I couldn’t miss Andy’s little feet overhead as he moved from the bathroom into his bedroom.

“Be prepared,” Dad advised.

I glanced at him over the rim of my mug. “For what?”

It seemed Dad couldn’t help but smile and chuckle. “He knows about Georgia staying here.”

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath. “Great.”

Andy clomped down the stairs.

“Dad!” he shouted, running to me and wrapping my legs in a hug. I set my hand on his head, his hair damp.

“Did you comb your hair?” I asked, surprised. Getting him to use toothpaste, soap or a comb were difficult tasks. Him using one of those voluntarily?

He looked up at me and nodded. “Miss Georgia’s coming for dinner tonight and I want to look my best.”

I turned my head toward Dad, who was tucking the lunch items into the Ironman lunchbox, a grin on his face.

“She’s coming for dinner?”

“Mhm,” he replied.

Andy let me go and hopped up and down. “I asked her to come last night because she’s our guest, but she said she couldn’t. Then I asked her to come to dinner tonight and she said yes!”

“Go get your coat on,” Dad told Andy.

“See ya later!” he said, not giving me a backward glance as he ran into the living room to grab his coat from the peg on the wall.

“Your six-year-old son has a hot date tonight,” Dad said, zipping the lunchbox closed. “He has more game than you. Is that how you say it?”

Georgia had my son combing his hair. She had Mav and Mary and Patrick wrapped around her little finger. Coming in here and getting Andy to think she was his new mom and coming up with the fundraiser concept from hell.

Starring me.

“That woman is a menace,” I said.

Since the fundraiser meeting yesterday morning, I’d thought about the calendar idea. And Georgia. So I washed Engine 1 with a little more vigor than necessary, but I’d had to work off the frustration–mental and physical–at being in Georgia’s presence. Everywhere. At work, at home, in my fantasies.

I was equally turned on and annoyed. Just shaking hands with her at the airport and I wanted to touch her more.

I wanted to find out if she dabbed her sweet scent at her neck or between those lush tits.

I wanted to see what color panties she wore.

How she looked with her legs parted, knees bent and that vibrator between them.

No, me between them, my head lowering, and–

“Georgia?” Dad asked. “What’s she done now?”

I cleared my throat, got my head back on why I wanted to strangle her, not jump her curvy body, and make her forget her name and cry out mine.

“The fundraiser’s changed to one of her brilliant ideas,” I growled. “It’s now a firefighter calendar. I’m Mr. January.”

Dad’s eyes widened, then widened some more, as if I told him we were going to raise funds by selling kidneys we harvested from emergency calls.

Then he laughed, completely at my expense. When he finally stopped, he said, “Spaghetti and meatballs for dinner. Andy’s sure it’s Georgia’s favorite.”

Dad usually got groceries for us and planned dinners since I was either working or sleeping off my shift during the day. When he told me the menu, I wasn’t surprised. Since the Italian dish was Andy’s favorite, we had it frequently.

“Grumpy, let’s go!” Andy shouted from the other room. “Simon got a pet snake and he’s going to sneak it into his backpack. I want to see it.”

For a second, I panicked about there being a snake roaming the school, but I was off-duty and that was someone else’s problem. Specifically, Simon’s mom or dad.

“Set a place for me,” Dad said. “I’m not missing this.”