Page 48 of Combust (Everyday Heroes 2)
The fucker.
“He isn’t answering,” Grant says with a chuckle. “That means he now has the hots for the woman he didn’t have the hots for last time we asked him.”
I don’t even argue. “Playing house for a day or two does that to you.” I sigh and look up to meet their puzzled looks. When I finish explaining our pretend couple-dom, I lift my finger to the waitress, silently ordering another round. “Do you know how hard it is to sleep in a bed with a woman and not be sleeping with her.”
“Hard would be the operative word,” Grant says and laughs.
“I don’t find that amusing at all.”
“Grumpy Grady,” Grayson chimes in, using the nickname the two of them would call me when we were little and they wanted to push my buttons.
“The woman can kiss.” It’s the only input I give as I thank the waitress when she slides fresh drinks in front of us.
“And that’s all you’ve done? Just kiss?” Grayson pries. “Nah, my bet is your dick’s been in your hand more than once.”
“You’ve seen her, Grant. Can you blame me if it has?”
Grant lifts his shoulder as if he’s in agreement. “Then tell her you’re interested.”
“Easier said than done,” I murmur.
“Why’s that? Telling her you’re interested doesn’t mean you’re gonna ball and chain it like this fucker,” Grayson says as he hooks a thumb toward Grant.
“Yeah, but she isn’t a Mallory,” I explain and realize I haven’t thought once about Mal since Dylan showed up. I haven’t really thought about any woman but one.
“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Grant asks.
“It means . . . nothing,” I say but my thoughts keep running. About Shelby, now a widow, and how neither she nor Brody deserve that. About my promise to myself to never get attached to someone beyond the physical good time because I refuse to leave someone hollow and alone like Drew’s death left them.
“Look, Grady,” Grant says in his older-brother voice, which means a lecture is coming when I don’t want a lecture. All I want to do is sit and drink my beer without interference or someone giving me advice. “I get you’ve sworn off meaningful relationships . . . so, for the life of me, I can’t figure out why you’re hesitating here. You have a gorgeous woman sleeping at your house—or rather, in your bed. She’s staying here temporarily. She’s on the rebound and probably isn’t looking for anything permanent.”
> “She hates firefighters,” I mumble and then shake my head when they both stare at me with confused looks on their faces. “Don’t ask.”
“She’s on the rebound and you’re not the type she likes . . . Not sure why you’re balking taking the next step? Isn’t this the perfect setup for you? There’s attraction but no want for more? Have some fun and then be done. I mean, she’s probably confused as fuck. You’re the king of flirting, but you aren’t acting on any of it. How is she supposed to take that? You’re treating her no better than Kroger has.”
I hate that he’s right. I hate that I’ve hesitated about this when the old me would have already been all over the opportunity living with her has presented. I hate that she has to be confused by how I can kiss her, distract her from delving too deep on me with my flirting, and not take another step to upgrade our roommate status.
“Are you naked when you and Mallory screw?”
I choke on my beer as I look over to Grayson and his stupid question.
“Of course he is,” Grant says, but it dawns on me where Grayson is going with this. Always Mr. Intuitive, even when I’ve never broached the subject with anyone other than my own mind.
“How many people have you slept with since the accident,” Grayson carries on.
I take a sip of my beer and glare at him. “Why? You need to live vicariously because you’re going through a dry spell?”
“What? Five? Six? None?” he taunts as my jaw clenches. “And what? You keep your clothes on? You keep the room pitch-black?”
“Lay off, Gray,” Grant warns when he realizes my temper is firing.
“No. He needs to hear this. We’ve been tiptoeing around this for months, and it isn’t doing him any good.” Grayson takes my beer out of my hand so I’m forced to pay attention to him. “Annie was a bitch. She didn’t leave you because of the scars on your back or because she couldn’t handle dating a firefighter. She left because she was a selfish wench who couldn’t handle the limelight being focused on someone other than her. That’s it. The twisted part is she was jealous of the attention you were getting when all you wanted was for Drew to still be here.”
“That isn’t—”
“I bet any of the other women you’ve slept with since her haven’t given two fucks about your scars. Whether you fuck them in the dark, with a shirt on, without a shirt on . . . it isn’t your back they’re thinking of. And if it is, you’re not doing it right.”
“That’s enough, Gray,” Grant warns again, shifting in his seat as if he’s worried I’ll swing. I won’t, but I do continue to glare at him, not wanting to hear what he’s saying but unable to keep the words from echoing in my head.
