Read Online Dirty Work by Chelle Bliss, Brenda Rothert - Free Book Online
Authors: Chelle Bliss, Brenda Rothert
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months when I was overseas. I’m very good at fantasizing. And when I want someone, I don’t settle for less.
As much as I love this line of conversation, I have to ask the question that’s been bothering me.
Me: Do you think I’m a shrew?
Justin Timberlake: What?
Me: Just answer.
Justin Timberlake: Not at all. I think you’re too gorgeous and smart for most men.
Me: Well, that limits my options.
Justin Timberlake: I don’t think you’re considering your options anymore.
Me: Oh, really?
Justin Timberlake: Really. And Reagan—I’m not either.
Chapter 9
“ T itan ,” a man yells as I make my way through the crowd in Carbondale, shaking hands and kissing babies. I look around because the voice is familiar, but I see no one. “Titan!”
The crowd parts, and I can see him, sitting in a wheelchair about ten feet away. I’m stunned and don’t move right away. “Jim?”
I haven’t seen him since the day I was discharged from Walter Reed. We served together, fought together, and he was with me on that fateful day when we were ambushed.
“It’s me, all right,” he says with a giant smile and wheels closer to me.
“Please step aside,” I tell the lingering crowd. “A fine US veteran is trying to make his way up here.”
The people move out of the way, and Jim comes to a stop in front of me. “Look at you, kid. You’re doing well for yourself.” He smiles, and the wrinkles around his eyes deepen.
He looks older, but then, so do I. Being in combat will do that to a man. We’d seen too much. Experienced things no person should ever have to endure. But it’s what we signed up for when we enlisted. No one forced us to sign the paperwork, handing over our lives to the American government for four years. We made the choice, and we have to suffer the consequences.
“I’m trying.” I laugh softly. “You have some time to stick around for a bit? I’d love to catch up.”
He motions toward his wheelchair. “I have all day. I’m going nowhere in a hurry.”
I give him a halfhearted smile. It’s hard to see a man who had always been so strong and active sitting before me in a wheelchair.
I lift the rope, making enough room for him to wheel by. “See that guy in the gray suit?” I ask, and when he nods, I continue. “He’s my campaign manager. Tell him you’re with me, and he’ll escort you to the bus.”
Jim holds out his hand, and I shake it without hesitation. “Thanks, Jude.”
I rest one hand on his shoulder as we shake. “It’s so fucking good to see you, man.”
“You too,” he says before wheeling toward Carl.
I continue my hand-shaking and thanking the people for waiting around to see me. The entire time, I can’t get Jim off my mind. Why is he in a wheelchair? He still has use of one leg, so I can’t wrap my mind around why he isn’t using a prosthetic.
When there are only a few people left in the crowd, I say good-bye and head straight for the bus.
“We need to talk.” Carl stops me before I can get within ten feet of the bus.
“What’s up?” I stop and am already undoing my shirt.
“How well do you know this guy?” He says “guy” like it’s a dirty word.
I narrow my eyes at him. “We fought together and were injured together. He was with me the day all hell broke loose.”
He rubs his chin and puckers his lips. “Hmm. He could be useful.”
I shake my head and shut that shit down right away. “I’m not going to use him to further my campaign. Get that shit out of your head.”
“Don’t say no so quickly. Just think about it.”
I’m still glaring when I give him a quick nod and motion for him to get out of the way. “Give us at least an hour before you show your face on the bus.”
He glances down at his watch and steps aside. “One hour. No more. We have to…”
“Strict schedule. I know, Carl,” I call over my shoulder before I make my way up the stairs.
When Jim sees me, he whistles. “Is all this yours?”
I shake my head and
As much as I love this line of conversation, I have to ask the question that’s been bothering me.
Me: Do you think I’m a shrew?
Justin Timberlake: What?
Me: Just answer.
Justin Timberlake: Not at all. I think you’re too gorgeous and smart for most men.
Me: Well, that limits my options.
Justin Timberlake: I don’t think you’re considering your options anymore.
Me: Oh, really?
Justin Timberlake: Really. And Reagan—I’m not either.
Chapter 9
“ T itan ,” a man yells as I make my way through the crowd in Carbondale, shaking hands and kissing babies. I look around because the voice is familiar, but I see no one. “Titan!”
The crowd parts, and I can see him, sitting in a wheelchair about ten feet away. I’m stunned and don’t move right away. “Jim?”
I haven’t seen him since the day I was discharged from Walter Reed. We served together, fought together, and he was with me on that fateful day when we were ambushed.
“It’s me, all right,” he says with a giant smile and wheels closer to me.
“Please step aside,” I tell the lingering crowd. “A fine US veteran is trying to make his way up here.”
The people move out of the way, and Jim comes to a stop in front of me. “Look at you, kid. You’re doing well for yourself.” He smiles, and the wrinkles around his eyes deepen.
He looks older, but then, so do I. Being in combat will do that to a man. We’d seen too much. Experienced things no person should ever have to endure. But it’s what we signed up for when we enlisted. No one forced us to sign the paperwork, handing over our lives to the American government for four years. We made the choice, and we have to suffer the consequences.
“I’m trying.” I laugh softly. “You have some time to stick around for a bit? I’d love to catch up.”
He motions toward his wheelchair. “I have all day. I’m going nowhere in a hurry.”
I give him a halfhearted smile. It’s hard to see a man who had always been so strong and active sitting before me in a wheelchair.
I lift the rope, making enough room for him to wheel by. “See that guy in the gray suit?” I ask, and when he nods, I continue. “He’s my campaign manager. Tell him you’re with me, and he’ll escort you to the bus.”
Jim holds out his hand, and I shake it without hesitation. “Thanks, Jude.”
I rest one hand on his shoulder as we shake. “It’s so fucking good to see you, man.”
“You too,” he says before wheeling toward Carl.
I continue my hand-shaking and thanking the people for waiting around to see me. The entire time, I can’t get Jim off my mind. Why is he in a wheelchair? He still has use of one leg, so I can’t wrap my mind around why he isn’t using a prosthetic.
When there are only a few people left in the crowd, I say good-bye and head straight for the bus.
“We need to talk.” Carl stops me before I can get within ten feet of the bus.
“What’s up?” I stop and am already undoing my shirt.
“How well do you know this guy?” He says “guy” like it’s a dirty word.
I narrow my eyes at him. “We fought together and were injured together. He was with me the day all hell broke loose.”
He rubs his chin and puckers his lips. “Hmm. He could be useful.”
I shake my head and shut that shit down right away. “I’m not going to use him to further my campaign. Get that shit out of your head.”
“Don’t say no so quickly. Just think about it.”
I’m still glaring when I give him a quick nod and motion for him to get out of the way. “Give us at least an hour before you show your face on the bus.”
He glances down at his watch and steps aside. “One hour. No more. We have to…”
“Strict schedule. I know, Carl,” I call over my shoulder before I make my way up the stairs.
When Jim sees me, he whistles. “Is all this yours?”
I shake my head and
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