Don't Call Me Hero

Don’t Call Me Hero

ELIZA LENTZSKI

Copyright © 2014 Eliza Lentzski

All rights reserved.

This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to events, locales, or real persons, living or dead, other than those in the public domain, is entirely coincidental.

No part of this book may be reproduced, re-sold, or transmitted electronically or otherwise, without written permission from the authors.

ISBN: 1502912503

ISBN-13: 978-1502912503

Other works by Eliza Lentzski

Apophis: Love Story for the End of the World

Winter Jacket 2: New Beginnings

Winter Jacket

Second Chances

Date Night

Love, Lust, & Other Mistakes

Diary of a Human

+ + +

Works as E.L. Blaisdell

Drained: The Lucid
(with Nica Curt)

http://www.elizalentzski.com

CONTENTS

Dedication

To C

CHAPTER ONE

The thing about going away parties is they make you want to stick around a little longer. That was the singular thought on my mind as I sat at a bar top table surrounded by the few friends I’d made since moving to Minneapolis less than a year ago. We were all cops on the city police force, but on that particular night we were just five twenty-somethings having drinks on my last night in town.

Brent, a native Minnesotan whom I’d always thought looked like an authentic Viking, raised his pint glass. “To Cassidy!” he toasted loud enough to be heard over whatever mash-up remix the DJ was playing. His chevron mustache twitched above his top lip. “To one awesome chick and one helluva cop.”

Everyone around the table raised their assorted glassware, which ranged from pint glasses to martini funnels, and they echoed Brent’s sentiment. Glasses clinked together and beverages sloshed over the rims.

I ducked my head at the gesture. I typically hated being the center of attention, but I was trying to let myself enjoy it. It had been a while since I’d experienced this feeling of belonging or that anyone appreciated my existence.

I looked around the table at the faces of the people who had quickly become like family: Brent the Viking, whose shoulders were broader than a doorframe, but whose heart was just as big; Angie, the dark-skinned woman with the quick smile. She was small in stature, but feistier than anyone I’d ever met, male or female. Adan, a slim Latino man, nursed his gin and tonic. He was the quietest of our group, and as the alcohol flowed more freely, he seemed to sink farther and farther into silent contemplation while his toothy grin grew wider and wider.

At the rank of detective, Rich had the most years in the department, but he was also the most immature of all of us. He reminded me of the guys I’d served with in the Marines—young at heart, but serious and professional when the situation called for it. I was proud to call him friend. In fact, even though I’d only been in the Twin Cities for a little over a year, I was going to miss this place and these people.

Angie echoed my thoughts. “God, I’m gonna miss you, Miller. Without you around, I’ll be swimming in testosterone.” She took a careful sip of her apple martini.

“Methinks the lady dost protest too much,” Rich teased. “Don’t let her fool you, Cass. Angie’s been counting the days down until she gets all the men to herself.”

Angie snorted. “Boy, you’ve got it twisted if you think Miller and I have the same type.”

“You’re probably right.” Rich ran his hand over his shaved head. “I suppose I don’t have enough hair to be on Cassidy’s radar.”

“Or nice enough tits,” Angie countered.

A howl of laughter rose around the table. Rich clutched at his heart, feigning being wounded by her words.

Brent palmed his broad chest over his T-shirt. “What do you think, Cassidy? Are these a solid B cup?”

I smirked and took another pull from my bottled beer. I drank using only my thumb and forefinger. It was an unnatural way to hold the bottle, but it mimicked the motion of pulling a bolt from a rifle. I’d been indoctrinated to drink that way at boot camp on Parris Island. “Dude, your boobs are bigger than mine.” I grabbed onto his muscled cleavage and gave it a firm squeeze. “I’m kind of jealous.”

A loud chorus of laughter erupted from an adjacent table, rivaling our own volume. I glanced in the direction of the noise and saw five women sitting around a bottle service table. It didn’t look like a bachelorette party—there wasn’t enough penis paraphernalia for that—so I wondered at the cause for celebration. The VIP seating was too pricey for a simple girls’ night out, and in a low-key city like Minneapolis, the need for bottle service seemed out of place.

I’d never been to this particular club before. It was too loud for extended conversation, and the strobe lights were too aggressive for my liking. I preferred dive bars that served cheap beer and gave away free popcorn. But my friends had insisted that this was a special occasion and that we needed to deviate from the norm.

My eyes flicked over each woman’s face as I tried to discover the reason behind the party. My innate curiosity had gotten me into trouble over the years, but it had also served me well in combat and on the police force. My investigation came to a halt on one face in particular. When caramel-colored eyes looked up and met my own, I immediately tore my glance away and pretended to be interested in the label on my beer bottle instead.

The boisterous conversation of the going away party continued around me, but I couldn’t stop looking back at the other table. It might have been the alcohol starting to talk, but seated at the adjacent table was the most striking woman I’d ever laid eyes on. Her raven-dark hair was styled and cut to frame her heart-shaped face. The ends flipped out just below the edge of her strong jaw line. Dark eyes, accentuated by smoky makeup, smoldered under the lights of the club. Her lips looked impossibly perfect, painted a deep shade of red and tugged up at one corner in an early smirk.

“Could you be anymore obvious?” Angie nudged a well-placed elbow into my ribs.

I snapped my eyes back to my friend. “What?”

“Don’t play innocent. You’ve been gawking at that woman like you’re on a stakeout.”

“What are you two birds buzzing about?” Brent butted it. He leaned across the table, and his thick blond mane fell across his eyes.

“Nothing,” I quickly asserted.

“Miller’s got a crush,” Angie countered.

“I do not!”

“Where?” Rich grinned eagerly. His eyes swept around the dimly lit club.

“Classy brunette over at the bottle service table,” Angie supplied, much to my horror.

Rich and Brent nearly fell over each other trying to get a glimpse of the woman while I couldn’t look up from the bottom of my beer bottle.

“Jesus, Miller,” Rich chuckled when he spotted the gorgeous brunette with her friends. “You really shoot for the stars, don’t you?”

“I’m not doing anything,” I defended myself. “I’m just sitting here, you assholes.” I chanced another glance in her direction. The distance between our two tables wasn’t that much, and I was
sure
she could pick up the topic of our conversation if she had wanted to.

“Which is a problem. You should be sitting over there,” Angie pointed unobtrusively in the direction of the nearby table, “charming your way into whatever fancy underwear classy dames like that wear.”

“Which
you
would know nothing about, Angie,” Brent snorted before draining the rest of his pint.

“You
wish
you could check out my underwear, Olson,” Angie returned with a snarl.

“So are you gonna make a move?” Rich egged me on.

“Guys, she’s not even gay,” I mumbled. Personally, I didn’t enjoy labels. I found both sexes attractive, but if pressed I enjoyed being intimate with women more.

“How do you know until you try?” The optimistic statement came from Adan. He was a man of few words, so when he did talk, people usually listened.

“Dude, this is your last night in town,” Brent reasoned with me. “What do you have to lose?”

I glanced again in the direction of the VIP section. The woman had her head thrown back, laughing. My eyes were drawn to her mouth, lips painted red and white teeth flashing. I jerked my attention back to my table when I spotted a hand grab my wallet off its surface.

Angie waved down a nearby cocktail waitress. “Bottle of champagne for that table over there, please,” she requested. She produced a credit card from my wallet and gave it to the server.

I swiped back my wallet, now one credit card lighter. “What are you doing?”

“Helping you be brave, my friend.”

“With my own money?”

I watched in mixed fascination and horror as the cocktail waitress delivered the bottle and five long-stemmed glasses to the adjacent table. The women uniformly appeared confused and waved the waitress away until the server pointed in the direction of our table.

“Jesus.” I jerked my stare back down to the tabletop and my visibly shaking hands.

“Hey ladies,” Brent called, waving a massively muscled arm. His blond hair wasn’t the only thing that looked like it belonged on a Viking; he was physically built like one, too.

“Would you stop it, Olson?” I hissed under my breath. I was thankful for the dim lighting so no one could see the blush I was sure had crept onto my cheeks. I aimed a boot to kick him under the table, but I missed and hit Rich’s shin instead.

“Fuck, Miller!” Rich leaned under the table to rub his tender shin.

“You probably deserved it, too,” I huffed, refusing to feel guilty about my poor aim.

“If you keep sitting here, I’m gonna keep charging drinks to your card and sending them to that table,” Angie threatened. “
Someone
has to make a move.”

Brent started to pound on the table in some kind of primal testosterone encouragement. Rich joined, followed by Angie, and even Adan.

“I really hate you idiots,” I spit out between ground teeth. I took one more pull from my beer bottle, building up my courage, and stood up on uneasy legs. The pounding on the table turned to victorious whoops and cheers.

I raked my fingers through my loose hair. “What the hell do I even say?” I grumbled to no one in particular.

Rich hopped up from his seat and slung his arm around my shoulder. “Don’t worry. I won’t let you go in there without backup.”

“I’m sure this has nothing to do with the fact that her four friends are equally attractive.”

Rich ran his hand over his squared jaw, which was just as closely shaved as his bald head. “Just taking one for the team, Rookie.”

We made our way over to the table, Rich’s gate exaggerated and mine unsure. I could feel myself start to sweat in the small of my back, but Rich’s arm remained slung around my shoulder, keeping me from running off. It felt like it weighed one thousand pounds.

The women were distracted by each other’s conversation and didn’t notice our approach. We hovered close to the large table, ignored for the moment, until Rich cleared his throat.

“Excuse me, ladies,” he announced. “Sorry to interrupt, but I hope you’re enjoying the champagne my good friend Cassidy was so generous to send over.”

The chattering at the table died down.

A blonde woman with wide-set eyes and an upturned nose was the first to respond. “Thank you, Cassidy.” She raised her champagne flute and tilted her head to the side. “What’s the occasion?”

I opened my mouth, although I wasn’t sure what I was going to say, but Rich beat me to it. “It’s Officer Miller’s last night in town so we’re giving her a kind of
bon voyage
party.” He leaned forward and flashed what I thought was a particularly wolfish smile. “How would you ladies like to celebrate with the Twin Cities’ finest and help us see our friend off with a bang?”

“You’re all cops?” asked a redhead with a spray of freckles across her nose.

“Detective Richard Gammon of the Minneapolis Police Department reporting for duty, Miss.” Rich touched his fingers to the rim of an imaginary hat. “Think you’ve got room at your table for a few more?”

The women looked at each other, wordlessly conferring, before the blonde spokeswoman answered. “Sure, why not?”

I couldn’t help but notice with a belly full of misgivings that the woman I had been staring at hadn’t participated in the conversation. I was about to excuse Rich and myself—the need to run away building in my body—but he had already waved at our other friends, motioning for them to come over, and the five women were shuffling around the long rectangular table to make room for us.

Rich settled himself between the blonde and the redhead, looking particularly pleased with how things had turned out.

I hesitated, unsure of where to go, until I felt hands firm on the tops of my shoulders planting me in the empty space next to the dark-haired woman whom I had been eyeballing.

“Have a seat, Cass,” Adan instructed me in his lightly accented English.

The space was limited and ten people were crammed around the table that was meant for maybe only eight. Beneath the wooden surface, my thigh pressed flush against my crush’s and our shoulders knocked together so I wouldn’t fall off the end of the cushioned bench. Despite our physical proximity, she continued to stare straight ahead. As I inspected the faces seated around the L-shaped table, she appeared to be the only person upset by the interruption. Even Adan had partnered up with one of her friends and was looking uncharacteristically chatty.

I found myself unable to make eye contact now that I was actually sitting here. Things had escaladed too quickly, and I needed a moment to get used to the change in company. I had planned on spending my last evening in town with my closest friends, not making awkward small talk with attractive strangers.

I managed to flag down a cocktail server, and I ordered another bottle of champagne for the table. Uncomfortable with silence, I would ply the table with more alcohol.