“I think I need a day to recover first,” I say, though a part of me is just as eager for our “try-out” date. I want to see if we keep getting along this well, if he keeps surprising me in such pleasant ways. “Tomorrow’s my first day back at work since vacation. I don’t want to be worn out by the end of my shift.”
Mick grins wickedly. “And why would you be worn out, Miller? Were you planning to keep me up all night long?”
“No!” I smack his thigh—that well-muscled thigh that I do not want to see out of those jeans, thankyouverymuch. At least…not yet. “Sometimes I work three-day shifts. This week, I go in at noon tomorrow and don’t get off until noon on Thursday, and my bunk is in an old utility closet where the pipes clang the entire time I’m trying to sleep.”
His brows pinch together. “They make you sleep in a utility closet?”
I shrug. “I don’t mind. At least I have some privacy and don’t have to listen to Kevin snore in the guys’ bunkroom all night. And it won’t be for much longer. The new firehouse is going to have six individual rooms so everyone on shift will have their own space.”
“Nice,” he says. “And maybe when you guys move to the new place, my sister will spend less time making googly eyes at the other side of the street.”
I laugh. “Jake’s the same way. We’ve started singing Moon River every time we catch him staring out the window.”
“That’s awesome,” he says with a grin. “I usually throw rolls at Naomi, but Moon River is way better. More embarrassing and less needless destruction of innocent bread. We have to do something to reinforce the message that drooling over your boo in public is gross at their age.”
I snort. “At any age.”
“Agreed,” he says, nudging my knee with his fist. “But if you can’t help yourself, it’s okay. I won’t judge. I can even stand in my window at a certain time each day to make it easier for you, if you want.”
“In your dreams, Whitehouse.” I roll my eyes, but I can’t deny I enjoy chatting with him nearly as much as I enjoy making out with him.
Nearly…
“Seriously, though, I’m excited about our date,” he says, the teasing note gone from his voice. “But I’d love for us to have more time than the hour or whatever you get for dinner while you’re on duty. So maybe Thursday night when you get off would be better? Or will you need to head home to crash?”
“Thursday should be fine,” I say. “Assuming we don’t have any middle-of-the-night calls on Wednesday.”
“Cool, then I’ll pick you up Thursday night at seven?” He tucks a lock of hair behind my ear. “We can get dinner and see what sounds like fun from there? Maybe a beer? Or bowling? Beer and bowling?”
“Seven is good, but I’m terrible at bowling,” I say, resisting the urge to shiver as his fingertips linger on my neck. “We could go to the shooting range instead, and I could kick your ass at target practice.”
He grins. “You’re on. But I wouldn’t be so sure about kicking my ass. I know my way around a weapon, Miller. I haven’t missed a deer season since I was in diapers.”
“Nice.” I return his grin. “That’ll make beating you more fun.”
“For a girl who couldn’t brush her own teeth last night, you talk a big game.”
“For a guy who struck out every time I watched him play softball, you have a high opinion of your own hand-eye coordination.”
“That’s it, this is war!” He tackles me, summoning an unusually girly giggle from my chest as he traps me between his powerful legs and rubs his knuckles against the top of my head.
“Stop it,” I say, batting at his arm. “You’ll give me split ends.”
“Oh no, not split ends.” His fingers shift to my ribs where he proceeds to tickle me until I’m gasping with laughter and so out of breath that when Melody opens the bedroom door, spatula in hand, and demands to know, “What’s going on in here, Mick? Do I need to defend this woman’s honor?” I can’t say a word.
“Sorry, Mel.” He grins as he releases me from his thigh prison. “Just messing around. Did we wake you?”
“No, of course not.” She waves her spatula through the air. “I’ve been up for an hour and almost have hangover breakfast ready. Plenty of eggs, grits, and pastries to go around. You two hungry?”
“Starving,” Mick says, springing up from the futon.
“Me too,” I say, my cheeks heating. “If you’ll trust me to eat in your place. I am so sorry I got sick last night. I am ten different shades of embarrassed.”
“Seriously, don’t worry about it,” she says with a smile that seems sincere. “We used the garden hose to blast the deck clean. Yours was the easiest clean-up of the night.”
“You hear that?” Mick glances over his shoulder as he shoves his feet into a pair of enormous black shoes by the chair he slept in last night. “You won the Best Barfer Award.” He presses a hand to his chest and wipes an imaginary tear. “So proud.”
“You did,” Melody says, playing along. “We’ll expect an acceptance speech after breakfast.”
I laugh, finally trusting that it’s okay to put my shame behind me. “Well, thanks. Next time I’ll win the Best Designated Driver Award. How about that?”
“Those are always our favorite people.” Mel points her spatula my way with a nod of approval. “Breakfast is almost ready. Come get yourselves some coffee and water and grab a chair.”
Sliding my sock feet to the floor I stand, brushing my hair from my face as Melody bustles back into the main part of the apartment.
“See?” Mick says softly. “I told you no one would think you were the Mayor of Loserville.”
I shrug and tug my glittery shirt down over my hips. “Melody’s really nice.”
“She is,” he agrees. “And so are you.”
“I am not. I’m tough as nails, and don’t you forget it.”
“Cute as a button is more like it.” He takes my hand, sending a sizzle of awareness dancing up my arm as I glance down, surprised to see that his palm completely engulfs mine.
“I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to you being so large,” I say, curling my fingers tentatively around his.
I haven’t held hands with anyone since Eli and I split, and I didn’t hold hands with him until we’d been dating for months. Public displays of affection aren’t usually easy for me. Or all that enjoyable.
But holding hands with Mick is…nice. Natural and warm and…good.
“Nostalgic for the days when you could crush me beneath your little pink sneaker?” he asks, drawing me closer.
“I never wore pink sneakers,” I murmur, tilting my head back to hold his gaze. “Take that back or I won’t ever kiss you again.”
“Retracted,” he says so quickly it makes me laugh.
“Good, now let’s go get some grits,” I say, starting for the door.
“Only if they have cheese on them. Grits without cheese are an abomination.” Mick follows me into the kitchen where Melody, her fiancé, Nick, Kitty, and a handful of other people are already gathered around the large table.