“Could be worse.”
I could be wallowing in memories of an inappropriate hookup with my superior officer—oh, wait! I’m not and I have nothing and no one to keep me warm.
“Yeah, this whole warehouse business is really fucking us both over.”
That’s an interesting take. The only person who seems to have been screwed sideways here is me. I wait on tenterhooks to hear how this affects another straight white male.
I don’t have to wait long.
“There’s an LT position opening up at Engine 70 that has my name on it but now this incident is being blown way out of proportion. Rossi is being a total asshole. Just loves playing the big man on campus.”
I’m not about to get in the middle of this. I have to work with both of them so you won’t hear me taking sides, though if pressed, I know exactly where I officially land.
I’m a Roman girl all the way.
I stash my backpack in my locker and close it. Woz is tying his shoelaces and I can feel him staring at me, expecting a response.
I keep it as neutral as possible. “Well, I’ll be thinking of you while I’m fumigating the equipment room.”
“See? There you go. We workers are getting trod on. You should take this light duty shit up with your union rep, Sully.”
And say what? I saved this lazy dickwad’s life by skirting protocol and my father the commissioner thinks I’m not ready for prime time? Oh, sure.
Woz is on a roll. “You know Rossi came in here, up shit creek after he punched out his CO in New York and somehow he manages to jump the line straight into a management position. Guy’s on thin ice, though, I heard.” He whispers, “With your dad.”
That day over breakfast, Roman had hinted he left FDNY on bad terms. So that’s the story: he punched his boss and is now on a last warning with Chuck. All the more reason why we’re a terrible idea.
“I wouldn’t know.”
But I know this: I’ve never wanted to pummel someone as badly as I want to pummel Wozniak right now.
“Just sayin’ that if Rossi gives you trouble you can always sic your pater on him. Use those connections, Sully.”
“Okay! See ya at breakfast.” Christ, I need out of here.
I head to the kitchen-lounge for morning meal. Some of the A-platoon are still there, sharing stories about what happened during their shift, so I spend a couple of minutes listening in and trying to center myself for the twenty-four hours ahead. Mopping and inventory. Yay.
Grabbing coffee, I become supremely aware of a looming presence to my right. Roman has appeared in all his hot Italian glory, mug at the ready as we both go for the coffee pot.
“Go ahead,” he says.
“Oh, you were first.”
“All yours, Sullivan.” He steps a foot or so back to give me plenty of space. The symbolism is not lost on me.
I pour a cup and add a drop of creamer. He passes the sweetener caddy over. “Looks like we’re out of your brand.”
Damn, no Splenda. Another sugar substitute will have to do. A warm flush overtakes me, my body far too pleased with the notion that he remembered my preferred brand from the diner. He opens the cupboard above and takes out a yellow Splenda box, shakes it, and growls.
“Who left an empty fucking box in the cupboard?”
No one fesses up. Roman mutters “fuckers” and pops the empty box in the recycling bin. He adds Splenda to the shopping list on the fridge.
“You don’t have to do that. I can bring more in from home.”
Another grunt in response that finds an answering call between my thighs. He picks up the coffee pot and pours into a mug that says “World’s Best Dad/Firefighter.”
“Lena gave you that?” Excellent deduction!
He tilts it and looks at the label like it’s the first time he’s seen it. A fond expression suffuses his face.
“Yeah. Though she probably doesn’t think that anymore.” At my look of concern, he shakes his head as if to say there’ll be no confidences today.
I don’t take the hint. “Is everything okay?”
He opens his mouth but we’re interrupted by Danny who’s just breezed in a couple of minutes past shift start.
He picks up the caddy. “No Splenda?”
“We already had this convo,” I say. “All out.”
Danny shakes his head sadly, then nudges me. “Hey, Simpson is having a cookout on Saturday. You going to that?”
“I hadn’t given it much thought.”
He offers me his widest grin. “You should go, then we could hit a club afterward. Make a night of it.”
Please do not ask me out on a date while Roman is here. And what is with all these club kids?
“Not sure I can make it.”
“What?” Gage turns from the stove where he’s cooking up a big hash and egg scramble. “Is someone actually considering not attending the event of the season? Abby Sullivan, was that your whine I heard?”
“This is the first I’m hearing of it!” I slide a glance at Roman, which is the worst thing I could have done. I’m not sure what I expected—some combination of yearning and anger, maybe, if that’s a thing. Instead I get the Rossi cool appraisal, the armor in place, and not a shred of softness for Yours Truly. Hastily I look away.
“I can probably make it.” To Danny, I add, “But no promises for after.”
“Worried about dating a firefighter?”
“I have no intention of dating anyone I work with. That’s just a disaster waiting to happen.” Are these words actually coming out of my mouth?
“Okay, I promise not to catch feelings,” Danny says with a cheeky grin. “Let’s keep it physical.”
“Acosta,” Roman growls. “Be very careful.”
Danny reddens. “Hey, I’m sorry, Abby. You know I have nothing but respect for you.”
“Sure, not a problem. But I’m serious about not dating anyone here. It’s just too messy.”
Neither can I imagine being with anyone other than Roman right now. The man has imprinted on me. He is Splenda and no other sugar substitute will do.
The crew give Danny shit for all manner of infractions, until Roman raises a hand and calls for the Morning Debate. “Whose turn is it?”
“I think it’s me.” I’ve been ruminating on a good question and think I have it. “Would you rather experience life in slow motion or fast forward?”
“Slow motion!” Tyler chimes in. “I love my job so I wouldn’t mind if it took longer to get through the day. We might have more time on a call as well.”
“No, no.” Danny’s frowning. “Fast forward is better. That way we can get all the dangerous and boring calls done quicker.”
“What about you, LT?” Gage asks.
Roman considers it for a moment. “Probably slow. I can think of a few moments in my life I’d want to last longer.”
Gage looks wistful. “Yeah, I’d love to have these early years with my kids slow down. It’s happening too fast.”
Roman nods. “You want to savor it while you can. Other experiences, too.”
All I can think of is that kiss, how it took control of my senses for a brief time and how my world stilled to that one perfect moment. How I’d love to do it again, slower this time, and then let Roman torture me with his tongue all freaking night.