Page 42 of Combust (Everyday Heroes 2)
“Well then, I guess we need to move her bed into his room.” Her grin widens at my suggestion, and I know I’ve won her over.
I’ve also bought myself some time with the I-hate-firefighters Dylan.
It’s when I hear the squeal—loud and scared and not from Petunia—that I look outside and see her staring up at Jett. Dylan doubles over in laughter at the sight of Jett freaking out, and I know I’ve won.
Damn. This is going to be fun.
“Mmm that tastes like heaven,” I say as I finish sucking the cannoli cream from Dylan’s finger. I lick my tongue around it and then slide her finger out of my mouth with a pop.
I love watching her struggle with this. Acting as if she isn’t affected by it and averting her eyes because she knows it’s hitting her right between the thighs. “You want some, Jett? I know you have firsthand knowledge of how delicious her dessert tastes.”
He looks up from where he’s sitting on the couch with his iPad in hand, prete
nding to look at something when I’ve noticed his eyes darting our way every few seconds. With each laugh. With every kiss I press to her bare shoulder. When I leave my hand on her ass between helping her prepare the lasagna.
“No, thanks.” His words are short. Agitated.
How does it feel, Mr. Rock Star, to want something you can’t have?
“Your loss.” I shrug and lift the bottle of beer to my lips as Dylan glances my way. The grin she’s fighting is worth all of this.
I shouldn’t notice her nipples. How they’re hard against her shirt. I shouldn’t look at her legs, the ones she calls mermaid thighs but are really perfect curves, and imagine what they’d look like spread for me.
No doubt my balls are going to be bluer than blue by the time this act is over.
My cell rings and I have no intention of answering it until I see Bowman’s name flash across the screen.
“What’s up, Bowie?”
“When you come in for next shift, can you head in a bit early?”
“Sure, but I’m not in till Thursday. What’s up?” I ask the question, but the annoyed feeling is already hitting me deep. They’re going to badger me about the damn calendar again. Might as well head this off at the pass. “Don’t even think about it.”
“Don’t think about . . . oh. I’m not talking about the calendar, but that subject isn’t dead yet, either.”
Dread replaces my annoyance. “Then what’s it about?”
His pause in response tells me it’s shit I don’t want to deal with. “We’re just having a house meeting.”
“Will Chief be there?” It’s my way of asking if it’s a procedural meeting or if it’s about something that hits close to home, like my lack of performance.
“Nah. Like I said, it’s a house meeting. No big deal.” His nervous chuckle is all I need to know the answer. When you live with a man, even if only in twenty-four-hour shift increments, you learn his tells. And that was his.
No big deal, my ass.
“Sure. I’ll be there early.”
“Great. How’s Brody’s playroom coming?”
“Slower than shit,” I say when all I want is to get off the phone so I can figure a way to avoid this meeting.
“Okay, then . . .”
“Later.”
I hang up and stare out the window, forgetting the act going on around me, because this is real. This is now. And I’m fucking screwed.
“Everything okay?”
