“What are you talking about?” I sound weak and defensive.
“Rossi?” She whispers his name like it belongs to a war criminal. “It can’t end well, Abby.”
“It’s nothing. Just a little flirtation which I’m not even thinking of acting on.” I can’t reveal the truth, not after that reaction. Let her think it’s gone nowhere.
“I’m serious, you can’t—”
Her little boy, Logan, appears out of nowhere hopping up and down in that age-old dance we all understand.
“Again? Are you drinking from the keg on the sly, buddy?” She stands and grabs his hand, then turns to me. “Let’s talk later, after you’ve figured out which story you want to tell me.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Sure, sure.” She smiles to take the sting out of her admonition and heads off to the house.
It is a truth universally acknowledged that a free chair at a backyard cookout doesn’t go unoccupied for long. Within thirty seconds, I have company in the form of Lena. She’s wearing a T-shirt with a drawing of a mustachioed firefighter and a slogan that reads “My Dad is my Hero.” Aww!
“Hey, Abby.”
“Hey, Lena. Nice tee and tattoo.”
She holds out her arm, admiring the tat with the cool appraisal of a tween. “Do you want another one?” Before I can demur, she opens her Godzilla backpack and takes out a transparent envelope. I see something sparkly. “We have to do it in the kitchen where there’s water.”
Well, I walked into that.
Two minutes later, she’s holding the damp plastic paper over my wrist and a moment later, I’m the proud owner of a glow-in-the-dark rainbow mermaid tattoo. Or I assume it will eventually glow in the dark. Right now, it has a Hulk-green sheen to it.
“Very cool,” a dark voice says, and I look up to find Roman standing at the door, minus the baby, thank God. Not sure I could have handled that.
“Dad, you need to get one, too.”
“I do?”
Lena is already wetting another tat and pulling her father over to the sink. “I’ve picked this one out especially.” She holds it down then grasps my hand. “Abby can make sure it works.”
Which is how I become assistant to the tattoo artist, my hand clasped over the plastic patch, feeling up the thick, muscle-corded forearm of my lieutenant.
“Sorry, she’s kind of bossy,” Roman says. “No idea where she gets it from.” He’s not pulling away, and neither am I making any effort to remove my hand which I insist is just ensuring the best quality tattoo application.
That’s when I notice his nails covered in bright blue polish. “You had fun at the salon?”
He raises his free hand to showcase his manicure. “Don’t think it suits me?”
I’m trying to imagine Roman sitting still while Lena paints his nails. The image melts the heart I’m supposed to be walling up against this man.
“It suits you. Just like this tattoo.” I move my hand away from the image.
Roman squints at it, still covered by the plastic sheet. “This is what you picked for me, fragolina?”
“Aunt Chiara said you’re a sparkly unicorn,” Lena says. “Because there’s no one like you.”
Roman scoffs. “Doesn’t sound like your aunt. And it certainly doesn’t sound like me.”
“Oh, I dunno,” I mutter. “You’re one of a kind. I think that’s what we’re getting at.”
“We’re? You’re siding with my tormentors now?” His eyes do that crinkly business, which is just one more thing that gets my engine running when it comes to Roman Rossi. I do not need more reasons!
Lena has moved to the other side of the kitchen to organize the contents of her backpack, so I feel safe in teasing him. “Tormentors is a bit strong.”
He sweeps his gaze over my halter top, his eyes lingering a hot fraction of a second on my cleavage. Did I choose my outfit with this man in mind?
I would never.
“Tormentors is pretty accurate.”
I murmur, “These old things.” The girls are having a good day.
“If the bra fits.”
Oh my. I can’t breathe for wanting him. I need to get out of this air-conditioned kitchen, which seems to be playing havoc with my nipples, and back into the sultry heat. It would be cooler than the space around Roman.
He shakes his head. “Sorry, I shouldn’t flirt with you. Or anything else. That’s not my usual MO, by the way.”
Just with me, then. That night in the diner, he opened up to me, and several times since. As for last night … well, wow. The lieutenant brought his dirty talking A-game. I love that he can’t help himself around me. He knows it has the potential to be ruinous to us both, yet he can’t resist.
And who doesn’t enjoy being wanted by a man who would be willing to announce it in a formal way to his superiors? But the consequences are too risky. In these situations rife with imbalance, it’s always the woman who emerges as the sorry one.
I once asked a friend at CFD HQ to pull my mother’s file. Reading through her work history, it became clear that she was the one who had to make the concessions, who took two years off to give birth and spend those early months and years with me, who had to fight her way back into the department. All against my father’s wishes. Aunt Kathleen told me he wanted her to stop being a firefighter and stay home with me. There was no question of him giving up his job or interrupting his career track.
Not that this thing between Roman and me has legs like that. We aren’t headed down the path of matrimony, but the longer I mess around with him, the more potential I have to be hurt, emotionally and career-wise. And what if he got injured or worse? Do I want to spend every shift worried about him running into a burning building or soothing his fears because I was likely doing the same? I have enough of that dynamic with my father.
Yet, I can’t deny this pull I feel toward the man.
I swallow and shuffle forward though I know it’s a terrible idea to be so close.
“Do you think it’s possible to go back to before?”
“Before what?” His head dips toward mine. “The diner? The kiss? Last night? There are several milestones to the story of us and I don’t think we can unring any of those bells.”
So we’re already on a runaway train to disaster. Before I can pull the rip cord, he murmurs, “You look so fucking gorgeous right now, y’know that?”
“Roman.”
It’s all I can manage. He’s all I can feel. My breathing picks up, jagged little pulls into my lungs.
“What I’m trying to say is that …” The words emerge from his throat, low and husky, “I want more of this. More of you. Any way I can have you.”
I’ve made it clear I won’t be dating a firefighter, CO or not. Roman appears to be saying he’d be okay with less than that, which is the dream right there, isn’t it? The best sex of my life with the hottest guy I’ve ever met, all with no strings.
“And you’re okay with not reporting it?”
A muscle in his jaw bunches. Not okay but willing to compromise. “If those are the terms …”
“The tattoo’s done, you guys!” Lena’s back in between us, pulling the tattoo sheet away.