Page 25 of Penalty Kiss
Perfect. My humiliation is officially a team sport.
Chapter 5
Operations Human Shield
Cam
Second night in Cedar Falls and somehow I’m at the fire station instead of a bar. Place reeks of burnt coffee and smoke. I expected testosterone—axes, engine oil, flexed biceps—but what’s filling the Community Room is pure mother-hen energy thick enough to choke out the diesel.
The chair groans under me like it’s filing a formal protest, and the whole room thrums with that small-town protectiveness that kicks in when they pick a cause—subtle as a cross-check in overtime. First time seeing it up close, and yeah… it’s an eye-opener.
The whiteboard at the front reads Monthly Public Safety Forum, but no one’s talking about brushfire drills or highway patrol updates. Tonight’s agenda has been hijacked: PROJECT PROTECT TARA.
Two feet away, Tara sits ramrod straight.
I don’t like the distance.
Chief Alvarez, posture crisp in her dark uniform, looks around the crowded community room. She’s not amused, not exasperated—just steady. The kind of woman who can calm a room without raising her voice.
“For the record,” she says, “we already have both of your statements at the Police HQ this morning.” She glances at Tara, then me. “But since most of us here weren’t in the room earlier, here’s the summary: last night, a man followed Ms. Tara Haynes and cornered her in the alley behind Mane Street Bistro. Cam Wilder intervened. The stalker fled. Tara, do you confirm that account?”
Tara nods, her hands wrapped around that mug like it’s armor. “Yes. That’s what happened.”
“Some creepy guy,” she adds with a shrug, like she’s describing a wrong pizza delivery. “Could’ve been worse if Cam hadn’t shown up.”
I choke on my coffee. “Could’ve been worse? Tara, the guy had you cornered—and the only reason you walked away is because you went full Mortal Kombat and fly-kicked him in the balls.”
Her mouth curves, “Best two points I ever scored.”
But her eyes cut to mine, sharp as a blade: the look that saysdrop it.
I don’t. Instead, I hook the leg of her chair with my boot and drag her half a foot closer, until her thigh presses against mine. The scrape of metal on concrete makes everyone glance over.
Her head snaps toward me, eyes flashing. “Cam—”
“Sit closer,” I murmur, leaning down so my breath hits her ear. “Makes it easier for me to guard you.”
The room clocks it instantly. An older woman at the end of the table arches a brow like a teacher catching you mid-note-passing. Behind her, a female voice whispers, “Oh, this is better than Netflix.”
Tara shifts an inch, but I press my knee lightly against hers, holding the line.
She glares, cheeks flushed, lips tight—but she doesn’t move away.
“It was handled,” she addresses the room firmly, though her voice carries a note of strain. Her jaw is set, but her eyes flick toward the crowd with something closer to apology.
“I appreciate everyone showing up tonight, I do. But I don’t need the entire town rearranging their lives because some creep followed me home. It was scary, yes, but I got out of it. I’m okay.”
She squeezes her mug, “I just don’t want to turn this into a circus. Cedar Falls has bigger things to worry about than me.”
Then she tilts her head toward me, voice low, fire aimed squarely at my chest. “And you—stop making it sound like I barely survived. I handled it.”
For them she’s calm, careful. For me, she’s fire. And hell if I don’t like it. Makes me wonder if she’ll still have that bite in bed—nails down my back, teeth catching my shoulder—or if she only saves it for me in public.
The chatter spikes again—half a dozen voices at once. My brain lags, words jumbling together. Too much, too fast. Static.
I catch fragments—locks, buddy system, spare key—until one phrase slices through clean.
“Attack geese.”
