Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 100275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
“Is there a difference?”
“Yes. A moan indicates pleasure. A groan indicates distress or suffering. Fitz, you could never make me moan.”
“You blushed.”
She shakes her head. “It was anger . . . distress and suffering. You can suck all of my fingers and all ten toes if that’s what does it for you, but it won’t ever make me weak in the knees.”
“I bet there’s somewhere I could put my mouth that would make you weak in the knees.”
Why THE FUCK did I say that?
A plume of embarrassment spreads from her neck to the tips of her ears.
Oh, yeah. That’s why I said it.
“Look.” I run my knuckles along her neck, and she shudders. Although I’m sure it’s a frightened shiver. “You’re red again. I’d better leave you alone before you get any more hot and bothered. I mean . . . angry and distressed.”
She wets her lips, eyes set in an indignant scowl, before whispering, “You’re going to pay.”
And just like that . . . I’m back in the same sinking boat. Only this time, I didn’t merely poke the bear. I kicked her in the teeth and stole one of her cubs.
Chapter Eight
JAYMES
The smoke jumper base is a quick drive from the hospital. Since Fitz escaped to his room for the rest of the night after our standoff, I’ve decided to pay him a visit today with a container of chocolate chip cookies.
The sewing revelation has piqued my curiosity. Do these jumpers really sew their gear?
And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to mess with him.
I tap the light dusting of snow off my boots before stepping into the entry. A nutty caramel coffee aroma greets me along with country music. Displays with pictures and historical details about smoke jumping cover the walls. A mannequin wearing a tan jumpsuit snags my attention because the high rounded collar looks Elvis inspired.
A young blonde with curls turns down the music on her phone behind the counter and offers a welcoming smile. “Hi. Are you here for a tour?”
“I’m here to see Calvin Fitzgerald. I’m Jamie, his roommate.” I open the container and hold out the cookies. “I baked them yesterday.”
She smiles. “Oh, wow. Thanks! They smell amazing.”
I point to the mannequin. “What’s the deal with the funky collar?”
She takes a bite and hums her approval. “It protects the neck when falling through trees. The suit is made of a protective Kevlar material and lots of padding. Smoke jumpers get dropped into some pretty harsh terrain. It’s a badass job. But I’m sure Calvin’s told you all about it.”
I try to imagine Fitz in that getup. “He’s rather selective with his sharing.” I give her a wry grin.
She laughs. “I’m Bailey, by the way. Come with me. Let’s find Calvin. He might be eating lunch.”
I follow her past a room with industrial sewing machines, all idle. We end up in an open space resembling an oversize garage with crates and boxes stacked along the perimeter, workout equipment on one side, and a picnic table with Fitz and two other guys eating lunch on the other.
When he catches a glimpse of me, he stops midchew. I’m instantly rewarded with his obvious shock. It’s fair to assume he’s caught off guard by my presence because there’s nothing sexy about my purple scrubs and puffy white jacket.
Perfect.
“Fitzy, I brought cookies for you and your friends.” I plaster on my best smile. “Aren’t you going to introduce me?” I slide the container of cookies on the table.
I can tell by his narrowed eyes and how he slowly sets his sandwich on the paper bag that he’s not offering any introductions. His buddies must be used to his stellar manners because they don’t hesitate to introduce themselves.
“Gary.” He adjusts his snowboarding-moose baseball hat, sharing a glimpse of his bald head, before offering me his hand.
I shake it. “Jamie. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Fitzy’s newest roommate.”
The grin on Gary’s salt-and-pepper scruffy face brings me so much satisfaction. He likes me, my nickname for Calvin, or the cookies. Perhaps all three.
“Todd.” The other guy offers a friendly nod. He looks closer to Calvin’s age. Maybe early to midthirties with what appears to be a dark-blond mullet under his solid-navy ball cap. Todd is the guy who drove Fitz home from the bar, but I don’t mention it because Fitz doesn’t need to know I spent the rest of the evening with one eye trained on him.
“A pleasure.” I scoot the cookies toward him.
The sugary aroma mixes with Todd’s open bag of cheesy Doritos for a rather interesting combination. He snags one and stares at it while grinning. “Fitzy, you never mentioned your new roommate is a baker. You also never mentioned she’s beautiful.”
“Aw, shucks, Todd.” I tuck my chin and twist my body. “You’re the sweetest.”