Kurt comes over. “You boys back to trouble, I see.”
“Actually, sir, I’m trying to stay out of it,” I reply with a laugh as Murphy pretends to air box with me. “But you know how riled up these fuckers get. They’re itching to go out and get wasted, and I’m not feeling it.”
My supervisor laughs. “Wait until you get to my age, son. Then, sipping a shot of bourbon on the back porch while your daughters play shitty ass music too loud upstairs is about as much fun as you get.”
I side-eye him hesitantly, “I don’t know, sir, you’ve got an awfully hot wife. Are you telling me Mrs. McCormick isn’t out there sipping bourbon with you? Because that doesn’t sound half bad.”
“She’s sneaking off with Trav,” Rojas jokes as Kurt’s face reddens. Even in a crew as tight as ours, there’s only so much ribbing that can go on.
“Shut the fuck up, Rojas. I’m the guy who comes through the front door, unlike you who’s always sneaking out the back.”
“Maybe with your mom,” he replies, dogging me. Everyone knows I was a foster kid and knew very little about my bio mother. But your mama jokes are par for the course.
I shrug begrudgingly. “Alright, y’all I’m off to domy community service, and then I’ll keep you posted about Stonie’s, okay?”
I head out to everyone’s goodbyes, feeling all sorts of deja-vu. During fire season, you spend nearly every waking moment with your crew. You see them more than you see your own family, and they become closer than brothers.
On off-season, though, everyone goes their separate ways, and it’s easy to start feeling like your firefighting life was another world, like a dream.
Thinking about Faith and how much I longed to make her mine, solidly mine before fire season, I started wishing it wouldn’t come so soon.
But now that I’m back in the thick of it with my buddies and meeting the new recruits, it’s almost like I never left. And I could believe it if it wasn’t for the chronic ache in my chest, thanks to the lovely owner of Jenkins Feed Store.
I’M sweaty from a full day of working out and probably look and smell like shit. Normally, I’d race home for a shower before stopping by to see Faith only to get sweaty and dirty again. But I’m over it now.
I have half a mind to tell her to find somebody new to help her out. She’ll have to once fire season starts, anyway.
Maybe she’ll get old Chuck Winters to replace me. Chuck is a guy from her church who’s been courting her awkwardly—and I mean awkwardly. He shows up at the feed store sometimes when I’m helping out. He’s got a stick so far up his ass I could hang a flag from his forehead.
But the uptight tool goes to the same church as her, which somehow makes him better for her than me, even though I can tell you right now he doesn’t give a flying fuck about her. Unlike Chuck, there’s no limit to what I would doto please this woman. But according to her church, I’m skipping down the broad road to hell, so it doesn’t matter.
The thought of her settling for that prick gets under my skin. I doubt he knows how to have sex beyond missionary style, and as for orgasms? He probably thinks “O” stands for Ovaltine. I can’t do anything about it if she’s into the whole 1950s separate bed vibe. But the thought of Chuck and her makes me nauseous.
In the two weeks since I made a move on Faith, she’s called me three times and acted awkwardly around me every time I show up at the feed store. But she’s never mentioned the kiss, never tried to explain herself, and never made her feelings clear. The mixed signals keep on coming, although I’ve found a semi-successful antidote in the form of not caring.
Yeah, I know what Wolfe suggested about trying to talk to her. But after a year in the friend zone, I’ve reached my last straw. At least, that’s what I tell myself. With fire season about to kick off, maybe it’s for the best anyway.
Parking the Chevelle in the dirt lot in front of the feed store, I trudge inside, feeling tired physically, mentally, and emotionally. The highlight of my day has become a drudgery, and the worst of it is now I know how those sugar-sweet lips and that cotton-candy mouth of hers tastes. And I know she responds to me physically the way I respond to her. But if she can’t figure it out, who am I to try to convince her?
“Hey, Faith,” I grumble. “You ready to head out back and take care of this?”
Her face lights up like a kid on Christmas morning when she hears my voice, turning away from the shelf where she’s restocking rabbit treats and toys. Her cheeks burn, and she says breathlessly, “Trav, it’s so good to see you.”
Shit like that used to get my insides all tied up in knots, but I won’t let myself go there anymore. Unlike Wolfe and Izzie, there’s not enough relationship between us to warrantreconciliation, let alone forgiveness. Nope, there’s just a bunch of false expectations and disappointments with most of the pain caused by my unfounded desires.
I scowl as I realize she’s dressed up more than usual. Her hair’s curled, and she’s got makeup on and pretty pink lip gloss that makes her mouth look like a juicy wild strawberry. She wears a burgundy tank top that looks more like a corset, covered in tiny pink flowers and green swirling leaves and vines I long to trace with a finger—all the way down to the gap between her top and her too tight jeans, which hug her ass and her pussy to perfection.
Fuck. I may be over her, but my cock sure isn’t. I have to shift how I’m standing and discreetly adjust my jeans, so she doesn’t get the full show.
“What are you all dolled up for?” I growl.
“You, actually.” Her reply knocks the wind out of me.
What the fuck? Back to the mixed signals, I see.I refuse to head down that path with her again. Instead, I ignore her words, stalking right past her to head out back.
She calls after me, “The delivery came earlier than usual, and it’s already handled.”
What game is she playing?Turning on my heel, I kick a dark knot in the wood floor in front of me with my cowboy boot. “You know, you could have called to let me know. I’ve had a long day.”
