“I wish I had popcorn,” uttered Harper.
Warren wished he had a very strong bottle of whisky. Or an exit route that didn’t have several people-shaped obstacles.
“I’m going to go and shift some of those boxes out front,” he decided, only to struggle to slip past Fraser’s broad figure at the door. He danced from one foot to the other, daunted despite the extra inch or two he had over Fraser. “Excuse me, mate.”
“I’m not yourmate,” Fraser replied stonily.
Harper pulled Fraser aside. “Babe, knock down the testosterone levels before we all implode.” She patted Warren on the chest. “Sorry about him. Gets grouchy when he hasn’t eaten his lunch.”
“I’m disowning you. Both of you,” Eiley said.
Warren took it as his cue to scarper, grinning when he heard Brook ask, “Mum, what’s tentotserone?”
He tuned out their conversation as Eiley broke the news about Harper’s books, glad for the chance to get his heart rate, and his cock, down to normal levels again. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so humiliatingly horny. He might have been a serial dater, but his sex life left something to be desired of late. And, fuck did he desire – her. The way they’d crashed into the bookshelf together, the weight of herthighs around his hips, the little gasps from her O-shaped lips when he’d touched her. He’d discovered something new inside of her, something he needed more of.
“This book is about a firefighter, too,” a voice said from beside him suddenly, breaking him out of his completely inappropriate thoughts. Brook held out a buckled copy of a children’s book.
Warren bent down to take a look. The cover displayed an illustrated girl with pigtails and red uniform, chest puffed out confidently before a firehouse. It took him a moment to read the title, letters swimming in a blur with all the clashing colours and fonts:Frankie the Firefighter. “Oh, aye? Is it any good?”
“Not sure. I haven’t read it yet. Would you like to read it together?”
He contemplated the boxes and books he hadn’t yet helped with, but he couldn’t resist Brook’s expectant face. “All right.” Grabbing two chairs from the nook by the window, he sat down and turned on his torch to make the pages more visible. “You might have to read it, though. I’m not very good.”
“You can’t read?”
Warren shook his head. “Not very well. I have dyslexia. That means the letters get all jumbled together and it takes a really long time to understand what the words say.”
“My best friend, Katy, has dyslexia. I sometimes read to her so that she can still love the same books as me,” Brook replied sagely, as though it was the most normal thing in the world. Warren supposed it was, but people seemed to think he could grow out of it as an adult, his poor spelling stillmocked when he submitted incident reports or signed off on inspections.
“I bet Katy appreciates that a lot. You’re a good lad.” Warren nudged him, pleased when Brook grinned with a bashful tilt to his chin. “Go on, then. Tell me about Frankie the Firefighter.”
So Brook began reading, far more confident at it than Warren had ever been. He asked questions, sometimes, wondering if Warren’s job was anything like Frankie’s, and Warren was keen to tell him all about the station across from his school. When Fraser emerged, Warren pretended to be too interested in the book to notice, even if he felt a glare scoring right through the middle of his forehead like a laser beam. And when Eiley followed shortly after, he didn’t look at her, either.
Didn’t dare, afraid it would just leave him wanting again.
Brook finished with a resolute closing of the book, looking up at Warren as though for approval.
“That was a great story, buddy. Thank you for reading it to me.”
“Brook is trying to take Eiley’s place as the bookworm of the family,” Harper supplied, crouched over her box of paperbacks.
“Oh, aye? I thought that spot would belong to the town’s famous writer.”
She smirked dryly. “I’m the town’sonlywriter, but I do appreciate the flattery.”
Fraser made a point of clearing his throat, and Warren resisted rolling his eyes. Harper certainly wasn’t the one he was interested in, pretty as she was. It was Eiley his skinprickled for, Eiley whose fingertips he’d tried to memorise the feeling of as they’d crept across his skin. Then again, he doubted Fraser would be happy to know that, either.
Since the grump was glaring again, Warren stood up and tucked the chairs away. “Is there anything else I can do before I call it a day?” He directed the question at Eiley, who was helping little Saff navigate the book stacks on wobbly legs.
She bit her lip, hesitating for a moment before meeting him by the doorway. “Could you help me put these boxes in my car?”
“I can do that,” Fraser was quick to butt in.
“I know you can, but I didn’t ask you,” Eiley retorted.
A shiver rattled through him, that heat resurfacing in his gut, hotter now that he wasn’t on the receiving end of her ire. “All right, then. Happy to help.”
He picked up the box, waiting for her to lead the way. Hoping that perhaps she wanted something more than just his help with the heavy lifting.
