Chapter 27
27
W e hop into the truck, and when he presses the button to start it, a band begins playing low.
The music is surprisingly good.
“Who is this?” I ask.
“Old Dominion.”
“I don’t hate this country music.”
He leans in, cupping my face as he kisses me, his thumb sweeping gently across my cheek before he leans back.
“You sure you’re relaxed, Sparky?”
I giggle.
I guess that was sassy.
“This is the most relaxed I’ve been in years.”
He looks over his shoulder, backing out of my driveway, and I notice the Red Lives Matter sticker is no longer there.
“You got rid of the window cling,” I say, a bit surprised the only red flag about him is gone.
“I didn’t think much of it when one of the guys’ wives gave it to us—I saw it as a show of support. But after looking into it more, I get that not everyone sees it that way. I didn’t fully consider what I was signaling to the world driving around with it on my truck.”
He’s too perfect.
I squeeze his hand after he puts the truck in drive.
“I like how thoughtful you are.” His hand moves to my thigh, his thumb brushing back and forth to the beat of the song as he drives through town.
I love the way he touches me.
Taking in his crisp, linen, button-down and shorts, I muse, “You seem to own a lot of linen.”
Now I’m self-conscious of my own outfit —drawstring shorts and a tank top.
“Linen is the best. Lightweight, breathable, ideal for summer.”
I narrow my eyes, noting the lack of wrinkles.
“Did you iron this?”
“I wanted to look nice for you.”
“You could have shared the memo.” I playfully swat his arm.
“It’s your day,” he reminds me.
“Wear whatever you want.”
I laugh softly but am now curious.
“And when it’s your day … what am I wearing?”
He flashes me a fucking dangerous glance.
“Nothing.”
Giggling as he turns into a new subdivision, I take in all of the freshly built homes.
I don’t know why, but it doesn’t seem like him.
“What made you want to live here?” I ask, staring at the two-story white home.
He presses the button on his visor, and the garage door opens.
“I didn’t want the maintenance of an old house.”
Fair enough.
“This is a big house for a single guy.”
“I like to entertain.” He reaches for the grocery bags behind us in the cab.
I grab my overnight bag and slide out.
“And this house will have better resale value down the road,” he says, waiting for me in front of the truck.
We step inside, and he moves efficiently, grabbing things from the cupboards.
I take a moment to look around.
The place is nice—really nice—but so cookie-cutter.
It’s all white and grey like everything came from the same place.
“This feels like an Airbnb,” I say, because it looks like a magazine without any personal touches.
Not that I can say much since my house doesn’t have any personal touches either.
“I’ll probably rent it when I’m done here,” he says, pulling a cutting board out and reaching for a knife.
“Instead of selling it?” I ask, leaning on the kitchen island, staring at him.
“I am getting into real estate more and more. You can’t be a firefighter forever,” he easily says.
“Why’s that?”
“You never know when your body will start failing you. I want to be prepared, which is why I also bought an apartment investment a couple of years ago.”
I consider the pragmatism while watching him wash vegetables.
“What’s it like being a landlord? Don’t people call you all the time?”
“I use a property management company. So, they handle the day-to-day.” Jake smiles at me then asks, “Do you want anything to drink?”
“What do you have?” I ask, curious what he keeps in his home.
“Tell me what you want, and I’ll let you know if I have it.”
“I don’t know why but I could go for a gin and tonic.”
He hums, bends down, and opens a cupboard.
“Gin. Tonic.” Then, reaching into the fridge, he pulls out a lime.
“You got it.”
“Are you going to have one too?”
“Sure.”
“I’m not peer-pressuring you, am I?” I giggle, remembering how he said he doesn’t drink that much.
He chuckles, pouring the gin into a shaker.
“No.”
Watching his biceps flex as he shakes the drink, I’m reminded of something else.
“Did you forget about the calendar?”
“No.” He chuckles again, pouring the drinks into rocks glasses before sliding one across to me.
“Cheers, Sparky.”
“Cheers, Red.” I clink my glass against his.
“We’re settled on these nicknames then?”
“Appears so.”
A small smirk tugs at Jake’s lips as he reaches into one of the grocery bags, taking out the calendar.
“For you, Sparky.”
A schoolgirl grin takes over my face as I flip through, eager to get to August.
When I do, my breath catches.
“Holy shit,” I exhale.
Jake, shirtless with suspenders, fire pants, boots, and a helmet.
Every inch of him is sculpted and utterly unfair.
“Um, wow,” I managed after a few seconds of shameless drooling.
He steps closer, wrapping his arms around my waist.
“Should I sign it for you?”
I press my back against him, turned on.
I should tell him I want him to recreate the pose instead.
But I don’t.
“How did you do on the mission?” Jake asks, and I bite back a laugh.
He squeezes my hips, turning me to face him.
“I hope the girl with the really annoying voice didn’t end up with that guy who was into the other girl.”
“You were actually watching it?” I giggle.
“No, they didn’t end up together. But I didn’t finish the season. I read after my bath.”
“After?”
“Reading before wasn’t working. My mind was stuck on everything that’s happened these last couple of days.” I take a sip of my drink.
“Are you serious about coming over and giving me a kiss every night?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” he asks, like I just asked something crazy.
“It’s … a lot.”
“How? We live less than ten minutes from each other.”
He would be a good boyfriend.
Probably a great one.
I can’t do it though.
Not yet anyway.
“My reality kicks back in at three tomorrow when Gabby comes home. So, I want to see how reality treats us before putting a label on this.”
“Fair enough. Know that I won’t be going out on dates with anyone else.”
Looking down at my drink, I consider that.
“Well … same.”
He hugs me tight, his warmth surrounding me.
“I’m so happy we got to spend this time together. And we still have tonight and tomorrow.”
I meet his gaze, a slow smile forming.
“It’s still my day, right?”
“Right.”
“So you’re going to make sure I have the best day?”
“I am,” he says, his tone slightly wary, probably wondering where I’m going with this.
I slide my hands up his chest, and he sharply inhales.
“Then I want you to touch me … like touch me.”