In the close confines of the stall, there was not room for much between them but somehow Diana had her hand between his legs, making an already hard situation more like granite.
And damn he loved the way she touched him in just the right way, with the right strokes like she understood him far better than she should. He had to slow this down because he wanted more than anything to make it last, so he reached behind her for the soft sponge he’d noticed and poured some flowery smelling soap on it. He trailed the soapy sponge down one breast in a circle, turned so the shower head water would hit her directly and washed off the soap, then he licked the splash of water off with his tongue. Rinse and repeat.
He lifted his face to hers and kissed her wet and willing lips, enjoying the way she opened up to him, tongue sliding and tangling with his over and over again. She acted like she was desperate to get him closer even in this tightly confined space.
That made two of them.
He turned her away from him to get her back, and she moaned.
“I want you inside me.”
“In a minute, babe. We need to slow down.”
“No. We don’t,” she protested.
He chuckled because he would make her wait, like it or not. He washed her back, coming down from her neck and trailing down to her beautiful ass. Like she anticipated him, she braced her hands on the wall and backed into him. Her eagerness worked for him, but didn’t make it any easier to slow things down when she rubbed against him. Just a few more angled inches and she’d be the one to make the decision for him. He groaned at the sensation of all that softness against him, teasing and gyrating, then reached his hand around her in what little space he could find between her and the shower wall. His fingers found her soft folds and he flicked in and out as she wriggled and squirmed against him, moaning his name and begging him to take her.
“Come first,” he whispered near her temple. “I want to feel you come on my fingers.”
A few seconds later she arched and moaned his name, shuddering against him. Her knees almost buckled and he held her up.
Now. Now she was ready for him.
He reached for the condom he’d brought inside, slipped it on then lifted her slightly to his erection, and with the hot water pounding on his back, entered her slowly, inch by inch. He didn’t allow his mind to go anywhere else, to places and times when she, and this, might be a daily occurrence. Right now all he wanted to do was feel her, enjoy how right he felt inside her, and stop wondering why this—with her—was so different.
When she cried out again and came in his arms, he wasn’t far behind her. One more thrust and he came so hard his knees did buckle. He fell to the ground, pulling her down with him. Somehow he managed to get them both up a moment later, and out of the now lukewarm shower. He dried her off first, next himself. She stood in front of him, hair wet and wild all around her flushed face. He’d dated a lot of beautiful woman in his life, including a beauty queen. Diana wasn’t classically beautiful in that sense, but he wished he understood why she excited him so much. Why his heart beat faster whenever she was close.
“For the record, that’s the best shower I ever had,” she said.
“Same here.”
“And you are the best friend I ever had.” She smiled, tugging her towel over those delicious breasts.
“Right back at you.”
A while later, they’d easily slid back into the friends part of their relationship. They’d sat down to eat his dinner on the floor of the living room on a couple of pillows, watching as Harry Potter fought a battle with Tom Riddle.
“One of my favorite book series of all time.” Diana said about the movie as she wound another strand of pasta on her fork.
She’d dressed again, but this time for comfort, as she’d claimed she did most of the time. An oversized long and faded Mizzou t-shirt. Plain and unassuming, and yet stealing away his last brain cell. Fortunately, he’d brought utensils and plates over, worried she didn’t yet have everything she needed for her new place. Good call on his part.
“What made you decide to be a writer?”
“To Kill a Mockingbird and Gran, who thought being a writer was the best thing anyone could ever aspire to be. But Harry Potter made me realize that authors could actually make money. Some authors, just not me.”
“Not yet, anyway.”
She shrugged. “Maybe not ever.”
“Hey.” He nudged her elbow. “Stop it.”
“It’s true.”
“Give yourself some time.”
“I’m not even enjoying it anymore. Maybe it’s time to do something else for a while. Like teach.”
“But you’re not giving up. Right?”
“I wouldn’t call it giving up. I’m re-thinking. Re-tooling.”
“As long as you’re not giving up.”
“Some of us change paths a few times before we find where we belong. Except I get the sense that being a firefighter is what you’ve always wanted to be.”
“Close. I wanted to be Batman and fight crime with a super cool cape and the Batmobile but that job was taken. So firefighter seemed like a close second.”
She laughed. “It must be nice to have already achieved what you wanted to do in your life and still be so young.”
“Yeah, it’s all gravy from here on.” It sounded good, and for a moment he almost fooled himself into believing it.
He should be happier with his life. It hadn’t been that easy to become a firefighter since the competition was stiff. Every year hundreds of recruits straight out of high school were turned away. Going to EMT and paramedic school had given him the edge, and he assumed some of his military experience. But he’d be lying if he said he was completely satisfied.
For one, he hadn’t saved Jake.
Scott hadn’t done enough. Hadn’t saved enough people, hadn’t taken enough risks, and hadn’t given it all. He probably should have taken a job in any other part of the country, maybe a larger city where he could make more of a difference.
“I sometimes think about transferring to a bigger city.”
“Tired of rescuing puppies?”
“Yeah, but realistically this is where I’ll stay. This is home. Billy’s having a kid, and I need to be the first to buy the annoying and very loud toy. And hey, we had seven pies delivered to the fire station after that puppy rescue.”
“She’s grateful.” She smiled at him. “And so am I. For this dinner. You didn’t have to but I love it.”
“Maybe I’m just trying to make it all up to you.”
She tucked a stray hair behind her ear. “Forget about that. We were kids and it was one night of my life.”
He doubted that. She’d been trying to fit into this town, even twelve years ago. That time, he’d been the one to make her feel like she didn’t matter. He’d tell her the truth about that night now, but he still didn’t feel like he could.
“You’re going back home at the end of summer. Something waiting for you back there?” Yes, he was curious. He was a guy. A sometimes jealous guy.
“Yes. My mother. I’ve got to go back and tell her in person that I’m done working in her bridal shop.”
“Too many Bridezillas?”
“You have no idea. I’m so sick of listening to the brides come in, worried more about a dress they’ll wear once in their life than whether or not they’ve got the right guy. And then there’s the women who come in to try on dresses before they’ve even got a fiancée.”
“Women do that?”
Diana nodded. “It’s sad. Want to know what’s sadder? One of these women, Tiffany, found her future husband at my mom’s bridal shop.”
“Why is that sad?”
“Because he was my fiance.”
The words stopped him cold. “I’m sorry. Guy sounds like an idiot.”
“He was.” Diana waved it off like it was no big deal. “Anyway, that’s kind of why my mom had mercy on me and let me have the summer off to come and help Gran. Except, as you k
now, I’m supposed to be finding her a nursing home while I’m here.”
“Right. And how’s that going?”
Her grin made him smile back. “I wouldn’t know. We won’t be needing one.”
He squeezed her hand. “I never want you to forget that if you ever need anything—whatever it is—you can come to me.”
“What if I need an orgasm?” she teased, licking sauce from one of her fingers.
“Especially then.”
Pushing her plate away, she crawled into his lap, and then put her forehead against his. She brushed a soft kiss across his lips. “This friends-with-benefits thing. It’s new to me.”
Not surprised, he tipped her chin. “But you’re okay?”
The truth was it would kill him to think for one second that he might hurt her. He’d walk away right now from the best sex he’d ever experienced if that’s what she needed from him.
“I’m good. You?”
He wondered if there was a man on the face of the earth who wouldn’t be happy hanging out with a beautiful smart woman, a good friend who didn’t insist on commitments and demand exclusivity. Not that he wasn’t giving that to her anyway, for the simple reason that she was the only one he wanted. But it felt freeing to give it without someone asking. Urging. Demanding. Insisting. Clinging.
Rather than answer, he showed her. He flipped her so he was on top then kissed her over and over again, tasting spaghetti sauce and red wine and that special sweet flavor that was pure Diana. When he was with her he tended to forget about the pain and the guilt those emails from Megan brought back. Yeah, he was good. Better than good.
15
As a former sniper, Scott understood waiting. He understood patience. Timing. But dammit, the spreading wildfires raging out of control made him feel helpless.
He didn’t like helpless.
The fires were all in the national forest and not in Cal Fire areas, but the need was so great that many Cal Fire squads had already been called in for relief.
Scott and the crew had just returned from another call. Timmy White’s second car accident this year, in case anyone else was counting, which meant that someone should take away the fool’s keys. The positive news was that it appeared everyone, including the elderly couple involved in the accident, would be all right. Scott would take his good news when and where he could find it.
“You sign up as a volunteer yet?” Mike asked.
“Yeah,” Scott answered from the couch, where he stared at the television. In Auburn, two different squads from the area had already been called in to relieve the regular crew who at times were in the field for days.
Two firefighters had recently lost their lives battling the fires. And here he sat, watching it all unfold on TV. Pathetic.
“The way things are going, we’ll get called up.”
“Yeah?”
“Calm down, soldier. You’ll get your chance at the enemy.”
True enough. The enemy was fire, and uncontrolled and unharnessed it was just as real and deadly to him as war. At the moment the enemy was a raging beast making its way across the forest and destroying everything in its path, hundreds of acres of pine and oak.
But like any beast, it could be contained. It only needed to be cut off at the knees like any bully.
“Hey, Sophia’s here,” Benny said.
He stood up. Family visits for him at the station were unusual, but especially from Sophia. “She coming in?”
“She wants you to meet her outside. Maybe she’s not into all the X-rated looks she gets from Rookie over here.”
“What? Who me?” Rookie protested. “Not me, man. She’s just a kid. Right?”
“Twenty.” She happened to be about the same age as Rookie, so Scott slid him a dangerous look, just to be on the safe side. The last thing Sophia needed right now was the complication of a relationship with a firefighter.
Scott found Sophia outside, pacing. Not a good sign. “Hey, what’s up?”
“I’m in trouble.” Those words didn’t match her eyes, because in them he saw a spark of life for the first time in weeks. Encouraging, and he’d take it.
“What kind?” He steeled himself. His mind ran through all the options and came up with only one likely one. Pregnant?
“I’m flunking out of school.”
“Shit. Why didn’t you say something?”
She threw up her hands. “It’s not like you can help me with this.”
“You’ve been keeping this inside all this time?” No wonder she’d been distracted and depressed.
“I thought I could handle it. But I’m drowning here. I got too far behind and it’s impossible to catch up!”
“Okay. Calm down. Let’s think about this. What does your dad say?”
Sophia’s eyes brimmed with tears. “He doesn’t know yet.”
“He’s going to find out sooner or later. You have to tell him.”
“That’s easy for you to say. I don’t want to break my father’s heart!”
“Listen, it’s been a while since I was in school but so what if it takes you longer to graduate?” He had a feeling he understood the rest of the problem.
“It’s more complicated than that.”
“Why?” he pressed.
“Because I hate it! Okay? I hate Berkeley. I don’t care if I am smart, what if what I love to do is run a restaurant? And hey, look at that, my dad already has one.”
“Got it. For the record, it does take a smart person like you to run a successful restaurant. So you need to tell your dad.”
“But I can’t.”
“You can’t, or you won’t? He’ll get over it. You can’t live your life to please your dad.”
Her shoulders slumped. “But I don’t want to let him down.”
“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but your dad thinks you can do no wrong.”
“And he’s about to find out how wrong he’s been about me.”
“No, you’re about to find out that he wants you to be happy. And if running his restaurant is what you want, I’m sure he’d be good with that.”
“You think?” The hope in her eyes kicked him in the gut.
“You need to tell him how you feel.”
They were both silent for a few minutes. He understood fear. In the desert there had been no point in not accepting that fear would be part of the daily equation. But more than most people Scott understood what it was like to know you’d let someone down.
“How do you do it?” Sophia asked softly.
“Do what?”
“Help everyone with their problems. Always have a solution.”
Survivor’s guilt. Hero complex. All those psychobabble terms had been thrown at him when he’d spent some time in counseling right after Jake’s death. Like they were trying to throw something up on the wall and see if it would stick. And he’d called bullshit. He refused to be labeled and packaged and put on an assembly line.
In the end maybe that’s what had killed Jake. He guessed they might never know.
“I don’t help everyone.” The words were hard to spit out, given how he’d failed Jake.
“At least you try.”
He wondered what Jake would think of that.
* * *
Diana spent a good portion of her afternoon in Mrs. St. Michaels’ apartment unit, listening to her many wild stories about tenants. It was amazing what people thought they could get away with and more so that they were sometimes even successful.
“I kicked them out because they wouldn’t pay rent for months. So what do they do? They take the damned commode with them! Now, I ask you what the hell do they want with a toilet and no house?”
“I don’t know,” Diana answered.
“Spite, that’s what it is. Pure spite. Most of them had blown through their deposit anyway and didn’t have a prayer in hell of getting it back. And you can’t squeeze water out of a stone so other than putting them on the Tenants from Hell list, there’s not a whole lot I can do.”
Diana took a deep breath. She’d read through the ‘book’ Mrs. St. Michaels had written. It was one disjointed compilation of unfinished chapters. Some of the chapters read like diary entries, and others like the somewhat crazed manifesto of a frustrated landlord.
“What I think we need here is a little organization.”
“Sure. How about if I make you lunch while you organize?”
“Uh, but—” Diana was about to say that she had no real idea of Mrs. St. Michaels vision for the book, but she had already walked into the kitchen and was digging in her cupboards.
Diana called upon every story craft outline she’d ever studied and created a mock outline for her landlord. Then she broke it up into possible chapters. By the time she was done with lunch and had explained all her ideas to Mrs. St. Michaels, Diana was reminded of how much she knew about shaping a story. Good to know it would be helpful to someone.
“You know, this is pretty good.” Mrs. St. Michaels looked over the outline. “You’re a very nice girl, Diana. Thank you for helping me.”
“Thanks.” Now to convince the rest of the town that she wasn’t a hussy.
Baby steps, Diana. Baby steps.
“Actually, it was kind of fun.”
Mrs. St. Michaels patted Diana’s hand. “I’m glad you’re having fun. A few days ago you looked like someone who’d just lost their best friend.”
Had she? Even if Diana hadn’t told anyone but Scott about the packages, something about Mrs. St. Michaels inspired a bit of truth-telling. Maybe it was the fact that she’d let Diana read her Landlord manifesto. “I got a few packages at Gran’s house. A bathrobe, some flannel PJ’s. I got the hint. Wear more clothes when you’re in a fire.”
Mrs. St. Michaels made a face. “Not like you planned it. I read in the paper it was one of those damned firecrackers caused it. Imagine. In the middle of the biggest drought in decades.”
She’d read that as well. “The worst of it was a note I got from someone who thought maybe I’d planned to meet her husband. Signed anonymous, of course.”
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