I mean, he'd said it when we were first together, but a man like Booth was viral. There was no way he could remain celibate for that long of a time.

He nodded. "Yes. There's only been you, and you fucking know it."

I laughed bitterly.

"You're lying," I hissed.

"No," he said, crowding close to me now. "Because once you've had that little taste of heaven, nothing ever compares. You're like a shot of Jack to my system. You ravage me. You're like a fucking savage. Everyone else is like a watered down beer in comparison to you."

I narrowed my eyes at him.

"You're comparing me to alcohol?" I asked, shaking my beer at him in frustration.

He sighed.

"And what the fuck else am I going to compare you to?" He lifted his brows. "It wasn't meant to offend you. It was meant to prove a fucking point. When someone wants the best, and has had the best, nothing else will ever compare. And you're the best. Emily's nothing compared to you. So yeah, if you want to compare yourself to her, you'll win. Every goddamn time."

I wanted to yell at him, but he was too fucking good.

When he spoke, it was hard not to listen.

"This'll never work," I waved my hands around desperately.

And it might not.

Carlos was right, we did fight a lot.

And I was on a sinking ship.

When all that was Booth finally took me under, I'd be forever his again.

And maybe I wasn't ready for that. Maybe he was going to ruin me for good this time.

I couldn't risk losing him again.

I'd barely survived it the first time.

Now I was older, and I knew what I was missing if it didn't work out.

If he left me because I said something stupid, which I knew I would, then I'd be broken.

Never to be repaired again.

"Mase," Booth's soft voice said. "What happened?"

"You and me," I pointed at him with one finger, and myself with the other. "We'll never work," I repeated.

He laughed behind me, pissing me off even further.

"Honey," he drawled seductively. "That's what we do. We fight. Then we make up. That's the best part, remember?"

I shivered as those words slid down my spine.

"Yes," I turned. "But what if one day we can't do that anymore. What if one day you don't think of me like that anymore."

He chuckled.

"Oh, you're reaching," he goaded.

I was.

I was losing the battle, and I couldn't say I minded.

"You piss me off," I sneered.

He snorted and pressed his lips to my neck, right along my spine.

"You piss me off, too, darlin'," he agreed. "But that's what we do, piss each other off. Then the next minute we'll be laughing about what we had for dinner the night before. That's just us. You and me. Crazy and crazier. I love you, so that's all that matters here. What do you think of that?"

I leaned down and pressed my lips to his forearm which was crossed across my chest.

"I love you, too," I said, lifting his shirt from his pants, then pressing my cold beer against him.

He laughed and shied away from me, finally giving me access to the truck.

"You're putting a lot of miles on my truck," he accused.

I shrugged as I climbed inside.

"You were the one who gave it to me," I countered.

He grinned.

"I sure did, didn't I?" His eyes were lit with humor.

I started the truck up and started backing out of the parking lot, being sure to wave at the truck full of firefighters that didn't have the decency to look away as Booth and I fought.

They waved back, and I drove home in silence, letting my mind roam over what Booth had said.

And I knew he was right.

I just got cold toes.

But they were nice and toasty now, along with certain other parts of my body.

Chapter 18.

Surround yourself with people who run towards gunfire, they will not disappoint you when shit hits the fan.

-T-shirt Booth "This is the man that's destroying her parent's mailbox," I said, handing Luke a picture I'd printed off at home.

He took it and studied it, then flipped through the next four I'd placed on his desk.

"When were these taken?" He looked up at me questioningly.

"I wrote the times down on the back, my printer decided it wanted to cut the times and dates off," I said, pointing to the back.

"Got it," he placed them on his desk. "Without catching the guy doing it, or having actual proof of who he is, there's nothing we can really do. We don't have the manpower to spare, and if all he's doing is destroying a mailbox, then we have bigger fish to fry."

I sighed.

That was what I was afraid he would say.

"I knew you were going to say that," I groaned in exasperation. "But how many mailboxes do they have to beat up before they do become important?"

If Masen's estimations were correct, then they'd spend over five grand on mailboxes over the last five years it'd been going on.

"Isn't this a federal crime?" I asked when Luke sighed.

He shrugged.

"Yes and no. It is a federal crime to fuck with people's mail, but they usually reserve getting involved when it's something such as stealing mail and using the checks and such," Luke explained. "This wouldn't even rank on their radar if they're still getting all their mail. Most likely it's just a stupid punk kid who gets his jollies off destroying the same mailbox."

I didn't say anything.

"You know," I said. "I'm not going to let this keep happening. If you don't do something about it, I will."

Luke grimaced.

"My hands are tied here, Booth," Luke apologized. "Until it escalates beyond pettiness, I'm not going to be able to do anything. Let me know if anything changes, though."

He handed the pictures back to me, but I waved them off. "Keep them."

He placed them down on his desk and nodded at me.

"Watch yourself," he warned. "You may have experience, but sometimes that hurts more than it helps with a judge."

I didn't respond, I just left Luke's office and walked out of the station I was able to get the files from my email, thanks to a now cooled down Masen.

And I'd headed straight to the station after my shift at work was over.

Luke wasn't helpful like I thought he'd be, either.

Now I was left with a sick feeling in my gut.

The amount of violence I saw in the man as he destroyed the mailbox wasn't saying childish behavior to me, they were the actions of someone consumed with rage.

And rage made people do stupid stuff.

Masen's parents, Ron and Karen, were just lucky that they hadn't gotten home while the man was in the process of doing it.

There was no telling what he would do while he was in the middle of destroying the box.

Frustrated, I walked past my bike where it was parked in front of the fire station, straight to the donut shop that was only two doors down from us.

"What can I get you?" The man behind the counter asked.

I studied the board hanging above his head.

"Give me five kolaches, a half dozen glazed, and a half dozen chocolate sprinkles," I ordered, moving my eyes from the board to the man.

He was on the shorter side at around five foot six or seven, with dark hair and dark eyes, and he was glaring at me like I'd ordered one of everything on the menu. He was likely in his late fifties, early sixties and looked incredibly familiar to me for some reason.

"That all?" He questioned sharply.

I nodded. "That's all."

Then my eyes wandered over to the drink cooler, and I smiled as I walked over to it and grabbed out three chocolate milks.

It'd been a long time since I'd enjoyed that delicacy.

Chocolate milk was few and far between...at least the right chocolate milk.

Borden was the only way you could get the full experience, and lucky for me they had that exact brand right in front of me.

"These, too," I dropped them down on the counter.

The man, who hadn't even started ringing me up yet, glared at me.

I didn't say anything else as he finished giving me my donuts, rang me up, and took my money.

"Thanks," I muttered, turning my back on the man.

His attitude was puzzling, but not everyone could have a good day.

Hell, I wasn't having a good day, so other people were allowed to have one, too.

The walk back to my bike felt like someone was watching me the whole way, but I didn't look back at the little donut man.

He could look all he wanted, as long as he didn't touch.