Maybe Swearing Will Help (SWAT Generation 2.0 3)

Eventually I’d given him the password, and he’d used it, but not until I’d made myself an admin on it to change his profile picture every once in a while since I knew he never would.

Which was what I was doing right that very second as I waited in the parking lot for Ford to get done writing his report.

We would be leaving for the restaurant directly from the station and would be going in our work clothes seeing as we’d had yet another day from hell.

Honestly, I was almost glad that I would be going back to school soon, meaning all of this riding around and doing the beat business would be stopping.

It was getting old.

Really old.

What was also getting old was seeing Linnett count down the fucking seconds.

I scrolled through my photos of Ford that I’d surreptitiously taken over the last few weeks he’d been training me.

I found one of him with his face forward, eyes scanning the street in front of him. He had his hand on the wheel and his other hand wrapped around the mic as he called a license plate in.

His Ray-Ban sunglasses were shielding his eyes, and the sun was shining in his window, making him look all ethereal and badass.

I selected that particular photo because you could see me in the reflection of the window, taking the picture.

The more reminders of me there could be, the better.

Because it was right then that I’d decided that enough was enough.

That ‘one time’ with Ford had been the most perfect of my life.

It’d been the one and only time that I’d felt like I didn’t have to pretend. That I could just be who I was meant to be.

Originally, I’d done the dating app with Calloway because I’d wanted to see what he would say to me ‘dating.’

What I hadn’t expected was for him to suggest a double date.

I’d honestly expected him to say, ‘okay, have fun’ and that be the end of it.

Him doing a double date like this meant that he wanted to be there. Wanted to keep an eye on me.

Wanted to be ready in case something happened that he didn’t like.

And I was making sure of that.

Sadly, poor Trace was going to be the fodder for my end game.

I needed an excuse to do this, and Trace was it. Thankfully, when I’d told him that I was just looking to be friends with him, but would still like to go out to dinner, he’d agreed.

He’d also suggested that he could bring a friend for me to meet.

When I’d told him sure, that I was down for that, since we were just having a friendly dinner, I hadn’t quite expected it to go as bad as it did.

Linnett, however? Well, I didn’t care if she got hurt. I didn’t even like her.

The only reason I was friends with her on Facebook was because I enjoyed seeing the woman flounder.

Which made me sound like a complete dick, but it was what it was.

It was also why I’d stopped by my place over lunch break and retrieved a set of earrings that Ford had given me for my seventeenth birthday.

Earrings that Linnett had picked out, thinking that they were for her when they were really for me.

Now, there I was, decked out in my work gear, wearing sparkly pink earrings that I would’ve never picked out on my own, waiting on Ford to get outside.

He finally arrived late, just in time for us to make it to the restaurant—barely.

“What were you doing in there?” I asked. “Reports don’t take that long.”

He shrugged. “Had to go to the bathroom.”

I crossed my arms. “Even filling out a report doesn’t take that long.”

He glanced at me as if he was amused by my commentary.

“Sometimes I’m not sure what to do with you,” he said conversationally as he started the cruiser up and began heading toward the restaurant where we were double dating at.

When we arrived five minutes later, not a word had been spoken between us, but the tension was thick in the truck as if both of us knew that this was about to get ugly.

“We’re here,” he muttered darkly as he pulled into the parking lot.

I immediately saw Linnett standing at the front entrance talking to Trace.

“Oh, look. They’re friends,” I teased, elbowing Ford. “Maybe she’ll try to steal my date.”

Ford snorted and got out of the car, but not before tossing me a parting comment of, “We could only be so lucky.”

I was staring at him when he rounded the cruiser and waited for me to arrive.

“You’re weird,” I told him as I fell into step beside him.

He shrugged and popped his back by pressing his fisted hands at mid-back.

After twisting each way, garnering a plethora of pops that ran along his spine, he dropped his hand and looked around the parking lot.