“Salt-caramel brownies for the party.”
“Are you kidding me? I love brownies! Drop ’em off in the kitchen but bring me one back because the host gets dibs.” He grins at me. “Where’s your sister?” He and Chiara are pretty friendly.
“Lovely to see you, too. She said she might stop by later. More important cookouts to attend, apparently.”
Gage mimics being wounded.
“Dad, can I go talk to Roni after I drop off the brownies?” Roni is Gage’s niece and usually has some cool comic book art to share. She’s just finished a screenwriting course at Columbia College in Chicago and is working on some script about female superheroes.
“Sure.” I take a look around, my eyes skittering over Abby who’s dressed in shorts and one of those tops that exposes her shoulders and ties around the neck. Bet she got that knot right. Her legs are long and toned and the whole effect makes my body tighten.
On closer inspection, I recognize the guy with her as one of her friends from that night in Dempseys’ bar. The relief that washes through me tells me all I need to know: I have a major fucking crush.
“Need a beer, LT?”
“Yes. Yes, I do.”
He grabs me a Sam Adams, my usual, from a cooler—it sure is handy having one of your crew also being your regular bartender.
“Where are your little ones?” I need to get my mind off the topic of my candidate.
“Probably in the alleyway with some fireworks.”
Gage grins just as his husband, Brady, comes out of the house carrying a blonde toddler with bows in her hair and leading another dark-headed little boy by the hand. Brady Smith is a scarred-and-tatted chef, a former Marine and a man of few words. Next to Gage, who has a golden leonine quality to him, he’s dark and intimidating but the love is there, no doubt about it. Both of them adore their kids as well as their gaggle of nieces and nephews.
I blow out a breath. Between my sister and the family of Engine 6, Chicago was a good place to land. It could have been a lot worse. Even though Lena had to start a new school midyear, she seems to be settling in, fights notwithstanding. She needs the stability and while I might want to get unstable with my candidate, I sure as hell need to keep my dick in check to maintain that even keel.
“You okay? Or should I be keeping you and Sullivan separate?”
My skin chills despite the warm temps. “Now why ever would you say that?”
“I’ve seen how you look at her. I know it well.” Gage casts a glance toward Brady, breathes out, and comes back to me. “You were pretty upset when Woz messed up on that call.”
“I’d be upset if it were anyone. He shouldn’t have put her in that position.”
“No, he shouldn’t. And she thought she was doing the right thing. Sometimes instinct is more important. What feels natural.”
“Are we talking about Sullivan’s decision to give her air to a crew member because he didn’t check his equipment or is something else on your mind?”
Gage sips his beer. “If your gut tells you a relationship with Abby is worth pursuing, maybe you should pay attention to that?”
If Luke’s been getting gabby, I will fucking murder him. And if not, then what does that say about how I’ve been acting around my candidate?
My. Candidate.
I push deep the thrill of possession those words inspire and return to the problem at hand. “I’m her supervisor, Simpson. That’s not happening.” Gut or not.
The same filthy lying gut that’s screaming at me to take her, claim her, make her mine. But she’s already cut me off at the knees, told me how she wants this to play out. I should be glad that a woman like that was willing to give me the time of day, if only for a couple of hours. Getting back into the dating game is hard enough after years in the wilderness of a bad marriage. So I had some fun with a gorgeous woman, who’s not looking for anything serious. I should take it for the win it is and move on.
When I’m finally ready to go that route, I need someone who will make a good mom to Lena. Who thinks I’m worth that effort. Unlike Tori, who wanted us to act like we were still in our early twenties, no responsibilities, party animals forever. And then abandoned her vows and commitments so she could have a do-over with another guy.
“You and your guy, I’m gonna guess that wasn’t always plain sailing. I mean, this is you, Mr.-High-Maintenance-get-the-hell-out-of-my-kitchen, we’re talking about.”
Gage grins. “Fuck, no. I went pretty hard at it and he took it slow. Dumped me a couple of times. Generally acted like an idiot. Him, not me.”
This amuses me. Gage Simpson would always assume he was in the right.
“Yet here you are.”
“Just kept trying. I saw something there and once I see it, I can’t unsee it, y’know? A vision of me and Brady and our HEA.”
“HEA?”
“Happily ever after, dude.”
Right. Mine is with a sweet little girl and my pain-in-the-ass sister, not a hotter-than-sin redhead who could do things with her mouth I’d be dining off for months.
Like a slap in the face to my good intentions, Abby’s dirty/sexy laugh carries over the heated air and lodges somewhere south of my chest and north of my quads. She’s young, fresh, the complete opposite of a jaded punk like me, and I want her more than common sense should dictate.
I’d like to think there’s a way out, that I can have my brownies and eat them, too. I’d like to think it isn’t over before it’s even begun.
Twenty-nine
Abby
Roman left my apartment approximately fourteen hours, twenty minutes, and twelve seconds ago. I hated telling him that there was no future between us, but was sure—okay, 80% positive—that I made the right decision. Now, I’m second-guessing everything.
Attending this shindig was low on my list, but it would have looked weird if I didn’t show my face. I need to act like a normal human being, able to hang with co-workers and friends, and not get overheated at the sight of my commanding officer at the grill, chatting with Gage and not looking my way at all.
Which is fine.
I can’t risk getting caught up in his heated orbit. I don’t think I would make a mistake on the job—I’m fairly certain I have that part of the equation under control—but the rest is tricky. Telling people we’re together in some way would be some drama-llama rigmarole, and what if it fizzles and fails? We’ll have declared our intentions for no reason at all.
Everyone would know I’d crossed a line with my CO.
Everyone would look at me, thinking I’d found another way to get ahead. It was bad enough I got the stink-eye from classmates at the academy. I certainly don’t need it because I’d screwed up and around with the man who can make or break my career over the next year. Neither did I want to risk having to leave Engine 6. It’s my mom’s house, and now mine.
Yet I couldn’t stop thinking of his expression when I shut it down. Not crushed exactly—I’d never presume that level of hurt—but he hadn’t liked it. He thought there was something here worth pursuing.
Part of me did, too.
So here we are at the Dempsey cookout, acting like strangers who haven’t touched, sucked, and kissed each other’s bodies like sex-starved weirdos.