“I told you I don’t date firefighters.” I’m already getting flack for being my father’s daughter, now I’ll hear it because I messed around with my lieutenant.
How bad do I have it that the word “my” in front of the lieutenant makes my chest warm?
He opens his mouth but I’m having none of it. “I’m going to come out of this worse than you, Roman, and all because we banged. It’s not like we’re in a relationship.”
The light in his eyes dims. I hate to be the one to cause it. “No, but it’s enough to cause a distraction.”
“It doesn’t have to be. Because now we’ve done it and we can move on. No more distractions.”
“So you think this one and done can be swept under the rug?”
I pick at the edge of the sheet then decide that more definitive action is needed. Pulling back the bedcover, I grab for my blouse and throw it on. The afterglow has chilled. “It has to be. I’m barely a month on the job.”
I look over my shoulder. With an arm behind his head, he’s lying there against my white sheets and fluffy pillows like a bronzed god of sex.
“I get the impression you don’t want to date me, Abby.” There’s a teasing edge in his voice.
“This isn’t personal, Roman. But the reality is that you’re my CO, I’m your candidate, and declaring a relationship—even if I wanted to which I don’t—means one of us has to switch shifts or out of the firehouse. We both know it won’t be you. We both know I’ll be judged—”
“I won’t let that happen—”
“I’ll be judged and that will be it. Besides, I want to stay at Engine 6 because it’s my mom’s house. And I want to learn from you. You’re the best.”
He parts his lips, arches that brow.
“I mean the best at firefighting!” The arrogant ass. Now all I want to do is jump in his arms again and knowing this effect on me makes me tetchy. “Do you think you can respect my wishes here?”
He looks offended. “Of course I will. This is totally your call, Abby. I’m not going to hassle you into a repeat of something you so obviously don’t want.”
That’s not what I meant—but he’s already on his feet, leaving my bedroom to grab his clothes, I assume. I take one last, longing look at that amazing body and commit it to some dark corner of my brain I’ll dip into later.
I could explain that I’d love nothing more than to see him outside Engine 6, meet for breakfasts at Fern’s, hit the lake path for a run together before hitting the shower for more fun, but it’s better to draw a line under what happened. It was amazing sex, life-altering, even. I can’t believe I think that, but it’s true. Only, I can’t say that to Roman. I can’t even hint at the fact this might have been more than a pressure release.
He comes back in, jeans on, buttoning up his shirt. I’m crazily relieved that he didn’t leave without saying goodbye.
I ask, “Are you mad at me?”
“Abby.” There’s no missing a hint of exasperation in his tone. He curls a hand around my neck and kisses me softly. “Does that seem like I’m mad at you?”
“I don’t know. Maybe you bottle it up.”
“I’m not mad, just disappointed. I think we rocked the fuck out of that bed and that we would be amazing together, but I understand this is difficult for you. Don’t worry, I’ll survive your rejection.”
“Roman, I—”
He stops my protest with another kiss, this time deeper and so hot I want to pull him back under those sheets.
“See you around, ciliegina.”
And on the last word—little cherry—he’s gone.
Twenty-eight
Roman
Another day, another disappointment. Yet again, I’m leaving Abby’s house with my head bowed, only this time it’s because I pushed too hard.
I’d known going in that there was no future with my sweet Cherry Pie, that I’d be getting whatever scraps she threw my way. I had an inkling the sex would be great, though I was wrong there.
It was off-the-charts amazing.
When she wrapped her sweet lips around my dick without me even prompting, I could have cried at the generosity of it. When she came against my hand, my heart soared with pride. When I lodged my body deep inside hers, I knew I was in trouble.
Her thumb in my mouth, her big baby blues eye-fucking me, her tight, hot pussy milking me so good I saw stars—every single thing that happened was a fantasy come to life. And I probably could have gone for another round if I hadn’t opened my big mouth.
We should probably cover next steps.
Excellent read of the situation. Top marks.
She was never going to go for it, but I had to give it a shot. I see her dilemma, though it goes deeper than just her worry about the workplace dynamics. She’s said a couple of times that she can’t date firefighters and there was that reference at dinner to how tough it was for her parents, both being in the service.
She’s afraid.
Or hell, I want to think that’s her excuse. That it’s not personal. That she might like me a little.
I am a fucking teenager again.
Maybe the deep connection I feel is all on my side. Christ knows I’ve been wrong before. I should accept that she’s done me a favor and I don’t have to come clean to Venti, who would rip me a new one.
Now I just have to keep my eyes and hands to myself, treat the probie as the underling she is (no matter how much I want her sweet body under me), and act like this isn’t a missed opportunity.
A day later, I’m still cranky. (I overheard Chiara telling Lena I was double-emo brooding because no one wants to date me. My twin’s opinions are sometimes a little too on the nose.) I should be feeling on top of the world because I’ve banged my fantasy woman and cleared the pipes, but now I’ve had a taste and I want more.
Today I have to pin on my game face and play nice for my crew in a social setting. Turning the corner onto the street of Gage Simpson’s house in Andersonville—we all live around here, it seems—it occurs to me that Abby will likely be walking over as well.
It’s probably too much to hope that she won’t show at all. That I can relax for a few hours and not have to censor my gaze and repress every filthy thought. I need to ignore the fizz in my veins every time I see her. Act as if she’s just another co-worker.
I can do that. I have to do that.
Tell that to my mind as it turns to mush on seeing her in Gage’s backyard.
With a date.
Good-looking, smiley, the kind of man that suits a woman like Abby.
“Lena!” Gage yells, then comes over and does a complicated handshake-fist bump thing with my daughter.
“Hey, Gage! I got a tattoo.”
“You did? Let’s see.” It’s a turtle with a rainbow coming out of its ass. “That’s so cool,” Gage says. “How long does it last?”
“Forever,” Lena announces with authority.
“Awesome. And what else have you got?” He nods at the tray in her arms. She wouldn’t let me carry it.