Adam wanted to punch that smile off Roman’s smug face, but at the station Roman was his superior, and Adam would always honor that. Come Saturday, when they were boxing at the gym, he’d hand him his ass because Beat the Heat wasn’t just a day, it was a destination.
The annual picnic had started out as a laid-back afternoon of fun and games designed to promote fire awareness and prevention. But because it was held in a town that loved its community events, over the years it had morphed into one of the most anticipated weekends of summer. The picnic raised funds for the station’s Back-to-School Pack project, which provided kids with the right shoes, supplies, and books they needed to be successful in school. It was a great pay-it-forward project, allowed firefighters to connect with residents, and was a gigantic headache for the person tasked with its planning.
“I guess all that’s left to say is congratulations, Baudouin. You’re the official go-to guy for all things Beat the Heat.”
“Come on, man.” Adam cupped the bill of his SHFD hat with both hands and pulled it low on his head.
He didn’t want to do this. It was a responsibility usually tasked to someone’s wife or a rookie, not a senior member of the crew. “Give it to Daugherty. His wife loves all that Martha Stewart stuff.”
“Daugherty’s wife is pregnant, which is why we are short a planner. Plus, you’re more connected than Martha and have more game than the entire NBA.” Roman snapped his fingers. “Your family owns half the vines in this county. Hell, just a bottle of your sister’s wine could raffle off for as much as a thousand bucks.”
“I’ll call Frankie about the wine,” he said, knowing that when it came to his baby sister, it could cost him. Big-time. “But I’m not a party planner.”
“You have to have some kind of planner in your phone. Call them.”
A hot blonde with big blue eyes and an even bigger rack popped in his head. “Megan,” Adam said, clapping his hands. “She would be perfect.”
Megan was cute, had a hot little bod, and loved to party—which worked well since she was the senior event planner over at Parties to Go-Go. She and Adam had done a little flirting on New Year’s Eve, and a little more after the ball dropped, but she’d been called away for a party emergency before they could get better acquainted. She had apologized, given him her private number, and told him to call—anytime.
Maybe now was that time. A chance to be in “it’s go time” proximity with Megan for three fun-filled weeks was a tempting prospect—a prospect that should have had him smiling. Only instead he heard himself say, “Give the event to Seth and McGuire. They can share the duty and bond or some shit.”
“No can do.” Roman rested his folded hands behind his head. “The caterer is already on board, the date is cleared through the city, and the booth preregistration forms have already gone out. Now we just need someone to oversee the event. And Lowen wants the someone who dented his engine. So unless you want me to explain to the chief how you couldn’t have been driving the engine since you weren’t even at the station when the accident happened—”
“Nope.”
This was not how he’d envisioned spending his morning, sitting in the captain’s office, getting reprimanded for a mistake he’d fessed up to but hadn’t committed. Lowen had chewed Adam’s head off in front of his entire crew, threatening disciplinary action in the form of a letter to add to the colorful collection already in his file. And unless the chief was talking about an attaboy letter, which the pulsing vein in his temple had implied no, then it would sink Adam’s chances of lieutenant.
Roman was right—planning some picnic would be a lot easier than finding a new career. The dent was pretty massive, Seth hadn’t taken a step out of line since, and Adam’s file wasn’t going to get any larger. All in all, it had worked out.
“Didn’t expect you would,” Roman said with a smile. “Seth will make a good addition. The kid has good instincts.”
“When he starts thinking with the right head.”
“As the expert in that field, can you let me know when that’s supposed to start? Because I’ve been waiting for that to happen for years.” Roman pushed the screen of his laptop with his foot until it swiveled so Adam could see it. “Take this, for example. After the week-long course Lowen put us through on the appropriate and inappropriate use of social media with regards to the house, some jackass let his girl put this up on Facebook.”
Roman didn’t say anything else. He didn’t have to. Adam could tell, even before he peeked at the photo, that he was the jackass in question. Which made no sense since he was girl-less. Then he looked at the screen, and looked hard.