by Dizzy Hooper
How can I expect him to, if I won't tell him?
I search for calm again. I look right into his eyes.
And then away.
God, I feel like such an asshole saying this, but I have to.
Hugging myself, I shrug. "I don't want you treating me with kid gloves now, just because we're fucking."
"Seriously?"
Okay, that hurts. "How else do you explain sidelining me?"
"How about the fact that you were in the hospital eight hours ago? You had half of a house collapse on you."
It's my turn to reel backward. My brow scrunches up, my gaze snapping to meet his. "That's what this is about for you?"
He throws his hands up. "What else would it be?"
"I mean." I tilt my head meaningfully. "There is the whole"—I make a crude gesture, curling one hand into a circle and then thrusting the index finger of my other hand through it—"thing."
Fixing me with a look, he shakes his head. The stiffness to his posture recedes even further. "Didn't I tell you that what you do on your own time is your own business?"
"Yeah, but…"
He smirks, dirty and flirty, and just like that, I feel a little bit better about things. "You want to take it up the ass from two guys in a row, that's your business. I will still make you run a mile the next day."
I can't help it. I laugh out loud. "I can't decide if that's the sweetest or the most sadistic thing you could say."
"Probably a bit of both." With that, he closes the space between us, putting his hands on my biceps. I let him, dropping my arms to my sides. "I know it's complicated now. We're going to have to find our footing if we want this thing to work out." He ducks a little, getting himself right in my frame of view. Making it impossible for me to look anywhere but at him. "But I want it to work out."
A bubble of fear pops in my chest, drifting off into nothingness. "Me, too."
"Good." Searching my gaze for permission, he leans in farther.
When our lips meet, it's soft and slow, and everything I didn't know I needed this past hour, but wow, I really did.
Pulling away, he folds me into his arms. I allow myself to be held, relaxing into him.
Until it strikes me.
I lean back. "Wait a minute. What did you think was going on back there?"
His cheeks color. Oh, boy, this is going to be good.
"It's not flattering."
"Was mine?"
He narrows his eyes at me, but it's all in fun. He tugs me back in, hugging me tight. Probably so I can't look him in the eyes while he confesses, "I was afraid you were being an insubordinate brat who wanted special privileges. You know. Because we're. Well."
Oh Jesus.
I pull back enough to make the gesture again, shoving my finger through the circle of my fist again. I raise my brow in question.
He laughs. "Well, I hope it's a whole lot more than just that."
Forget a bubble in my chest. I have a fucking rainbow bursting past my ribs in there.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I bury my face against his chest again.
And I still have so many doubts. But I dare to say it. "So do I."
40
It's closer to morning than it is to night by the time we actually get to crash. Tempting as it would be to flop on the mattresses spread across the floor, none of us is actually reckless enough to sleep in a big naked lump.
We reassemble the bunks as fast as we can. I'm about to get into mine, when Street grabs me by the wrist. He raises a brow and gives a tug at my arm. I bite my lip and glance around. Walker nods at us. Street's bunk is in the far corner anyway. Even if an inspector wanted to come by at five am on Christmas morning, we'd have the rest of the guys between us and the door. It's a risk, but not a big one.
And it's totally, completely worth it. Street pulls me along with him under the covers and wraps me up in his strong arms. The bunk is tiny, and we barely fit, but I don't care. His body cocoons mine perfectly, his heat surrounding me, his breath warm against my hair. It's arousing, of course; his cock is a firm bulge against my thigh. But even more than that, it's a feeling of safety, connection, belonging.
I fall asleep between one breath and the next.
I wake a few hours later to the alarm clock in the corner going off. Sleepy groans sound out from around us. Corey shows mercy and stumbles over to hit the snooze alarm, then heads to the bathroom.
Behind me, Street shifts, yawning. His giant morning wood presses into my rear, and I clench my mouth shut tight against a whimper. He grips my hip for a second, then slides his hand up my side to cup my breast through my shirt.
"Mmm." His voice is full of gravel, and that shouldn't be so sexy. "Good morning."
"Yeah. It is."
I turn inside his arms to face him.
The thing about Street is that he never really lets his guard down. He keeps his distance, eating alone, skulking around, disappearing into the recesses of the station unless he's required at a meeting or a drill or to perform one of his duties. I've caught him asleep a couple of times, but it's always with the covers drawn up over his face.
So my heart does this funny thing inside my chest to see him now, all his features relaxed, his mouth turned up into this small half-smile that's just for me. I graze my fingertips over his cheek. His rough stubble tickles.
It feels even better against my skin as I lean up for a soft, slow kiss.
He licks into my mouth. His thigh slots between mine, and a slow glow of desire flows through me like syrup.
What I would give to stay right here. To push our bottoms down and let him slip inside, rocking us to both to an easy morning orgasm.
The alarm in the corner goes off again, and I groan, but not from pleasure.
Walker hops out of his bunk and throws a pillow at our heads. "Up and at 'em."
"I hate you," Street growls.
"Love you, too," Walker says, then he keeps moving
I look to Street. I hate to break this moment, but time is up. Gliding my fingertip over his full bottom lip, I ask, "Rain check?"
"Definitely."
He steals one more filthy kiss and a grab at my ass. I clench down inside, and whoa.
It's not as if I forgot that I got fucked by five guys in quick succession last night. But the stinging soreness in my ass and my cunt is one hell of a reminder. I could go again, sure.
But maybe it's just as well we have to get up.
Once we finally drag ourselves out of bed, I drag myself to the bathroom to splash some water on my face. I generally make myself presentable, then head downstairs to find the rest of the guys arranged around the common area the same way they normally are, eating bagels and drinking coffee. Talking shit and watching the news.
As I approach, there isn't even a lull in the conversation. Walker slides a steaming mug my way with a sparkling smile. I grab a section of the paper and park myself at the table by myself, and the world keeps spinning on, the same as ever.
Except that it's not. Corey touches my neck as he's walking by. Street snags my mug on his way to the kitchen and gets me a refill without me having to ask, depositing it with a silent nod right back beside my hand.
And it's those little things, all throughout the day. We do some drills, and Walker plants a firm, quick kiss to my lips when I smoke the whole rest of the team during one of them. Jaquan lets his chest graze my spine as he reaches past me to get something off a high shelf above my head.
Sal holds my hand, driving back from an EMT call a couple of blocks away.
None of them hides it. None of them acts pissed or territorial when they see someone else sneaking a little moment with me.
And it's just…nice.
Normal, even? If that's possible, considering.
Given how insane things were yesterday, all of us seem braced for another bear of a day today, and we do get a few calls. But as the afternoon wears on and the alarms remain silent, an uneasy calm settles over the station.
I
don't know about the rest of the guys, but I have an itch under my skin. It's surreal, really, knocking around the place without much of anything to do.
Knowing that out there in the world, families are sitting down to Christas dinner, while we're here.
As the clock ticks closer toward evening, I frown. No one's made any mention of plans for a big meal here, which is kind of weird. Maybe Sal and Corey and Jaquan and Walker have something in mind and just didn't tell me about it, respecting my preference to keep taking my meals alone.
That doesn't really sound like them, though.
I chew my lip, watching the time and keeping an eye out. If they did ask me if I wanted to join them, I don't know what I'd say. I made such a big stink about keeping to myself back on my first day. Clearly a lot has changed since then, though. The idea of sitting down with them all, really being a part of them—and not just sexually…it has a new appeal.
Finally, five o'clock hits. Walker strides into the common room and looks to Sal. "Your abuela still make enough to feed a small army?"
Sal's on his feet before Walker can finish his sentence. "You bet she does."
Walker rubs his hands together and smiles. "Okay, guys, let's go."
And Christ—how did I forget? That first time I hooked up with Sal and Jaquan, we got talking about families. Sal told me all about his huge family and his grandmother's cooking. How sometimes, if Christmas day was quiet, the whole crew would head over there.
I filed that information away somewhere in the back of my brain, but I didn't really think of it as being relevant to me. Forget that Christmas was just around the corner even then. I was so ready to see myself as disposable that I didn't imagine I'd still be here when the day came.
But I am.
Corey and Jaquan and Sal book it for the door. Walker raises his brows at me and Street. "You guys coming?"
And it's clearly optional. We have three vehicles. Street and I could stay here with one of the trucks and still be prepared to respond if we got called out.
Street looks to me, head tilted in question.
Which.
Shit.
I never imagined being here for this. I certainly never imagined being so entwined with this group that they would care if I went with them or not.
I never imagined Street being pulled far enough into the fold to consider it, either.
But here we are.
"I hear the tamales are awesome," he says.
Something like relief sighs in my chest. I stand. "I have never turned down a tamale in my life."
"Just a spaghetti casserole," Walker quips, but he's smiling as he does.
I roll my eyes. "One time. I turn that down one time…"
Walker pounces. "So the next time you'd be up for it?"
My chest tightens. But I shrug. "Sure. Why not?"
I can think of about a million reasons, but the way Walker beams makes the risk feel worthwhile.
Street comes up alongside me, slinging his arm around my shoulders and tugging me in. His warm, spicy scent surrounds me. "How do you feel about pierogis?"
I didn't know it was possible to turn a girl on with a rumbled mention of Polish food, but chalk that up as another fun thing I've learned today.
"I feel pretty good about them," I confess.
Honestly, I could probably go for just about anything, if it was these guys offering.
The three of us head toward the garage, where the rest of the guys are doing the final checks to make sure we have everything on board so we can respond immediately if a call comes in. We load on up, and then we're off.
And it's surreal, driving through the streets on our rigs without an emergency to get to. We do grocery runs and community inspections and school visits, sure, but even with those, our heads are in the game.
Street even stays under the speed limit. Or at least not too far over.
We eventually arrive at a little bungalow home on the west side of town. The place is strung with red and green lights, a nativity spread out on the small front lawn. The driveway is jam packed with cars, but there's room on the street for our trucks—maybe by design. We pull up and park and pile out.
It's then, heading up the walk to a normal house in a normal neighborhood for a normal Christmas dinner, that my nerves hit me.
Shit. I've never done this. Not once.
My gait slows. Jaquan just about slams into my back. Coming to a stop at my side, Sal grabs my hand. His warm palm in mine settles something inside me, while also making the racing in my heart surge to a gallop.
Am I his girlfriend? Am I meeting the parents here? How does that kind of thing even work in a six-person arrangement anyway?
"I—How—" I sputter, lost for words.
"Hey, it's fine. It's just dinner. No big deal."
"Is it, though?"
"Yes." He squeezes my hand hard. "It's whatever we want it to be, okay? Same as everything we're doing here."
"It's free food, is what it is," Jaquan adds, and the laugh that comes out of me is undignified.
It's exactly what I needed. All over again, I fall a little bit in love with the guy. If we were anywhere else, I'd kiss him.
As is, I settle for reaching for him with my other hand.
Holding onto both Sal and Jaquan, I let myself be led up to the door, where Walker is bending to kiss a plump old lady on the cheek. She barely comes up to his shoulder, her long hair grayer than it was in the picture on Sal's fridge, but the warmth of her smile unmistakable.
As she releases Walker and shoos him inside, Sal's grandma looks over toward us. She sets sight on Sal, and an inner light glows in her eyes. She says something fast in Spanish that I can't quite make out, and he replies in kind. Jaquan rattles something off, too, and they all laugh.
"Come here," she says in English.
Sal has to stoop down even more deeply than Walker did to give the woman a hug. He wraps his arms around her and lifts her, spinning her around while she swats at him ineffectively. He sets her down, and she rolls her eyes, but it's still good-natured.
"Brat."
"You love me."
She says something else in Spanish, then Sal turns back to me and Jaquan.
"You know this asshole," he says, gesturing at Jaquan.
"Hey, abuela." Jaquan steps forward to give her a quick hug and a kiss.
She pats his shoulder. "Food is in the kitchen. Help yourself."
"You know I will."
He disappears inside then. I squirm.
"Grandma," Sal says, "this is the new recruit I told you about. Chapman."
"Ah, yes." She holds out her hands for me.
A moment's panic takes hold of me. I'm not a touchy-feely person. I don't hug people. Before the guys each made their moves, I hadn't touched or been touched by anyone in ages.
And yet, Sal's grandma is so open. It's almost too easy to follow her lead and place my hands in hers.
Her skin is warm, her fingers gnarled. She squeezes my palms tightly. "It's good to finally meet you."
Something bright and light flows through me. I'm almost dizzy from the easy contact, the acceptance and affection in her voice.
Is this what it's like to be part of a normal family? To have people in your life who welcome you in? To be accepted as a part of something so readily?
Letting go, she looks past me. A slier smile curls her wrinkled lips. "Ah, Mister Hangs Back With The Trucks. It finally smells too good for you to stay away?"
It takes me a second to realize she's talking to Street.
Right. Because he's never done this, either.
The solidarity I feel for the man only grows as he shifts, just as uncomfortable and uncertain as I was. Finally, he lets her grasp his hands, too.
"Something like that," he admits, but he looks to me.
We're really shit at keeping a secret, aren't we? Me heading up the sidewalk holding both Sal and Jaquan's hands. The softness in Street's gaze as he practically tells this woman that I'm th
e reason he decided to come in from out of the cold.
If she notices, she doesn't remark on it. She just ushers him in.
"Well, good," Sal's grandma says. "Come on, come inside, eat."
It's only once the door is closed behind us, the frigid air dismissed, that the warmth within hits me. It's literal—the temperature has to be seventy-five degrees at least, but it's metaphorical, too.
The bungalow is small but cheery, the walls painted in sunshiny yellows and burnt oranges. Colorful lights and garland are hung up everywhere, with a tree that scrapes the ceiling set up in the corner. Spanish language versions of Christmas carols play, and the air hangs heavy with the scents of roasted meats and spice.
And everywhere—absolutely everywhere—are people.
I blink, scarcely able to move amid the crowd. Most of the faces are various shades of golden brown, and more than one bears an uncanny resemblance to Sal. A mix of English and Spanish hums across the space, laughter ringing out.
Street and I both kind of freeze up, but we're not allowed to stay motionless for long. Sal's grandma insists on helping us peel off our coats. She tosses them at a boy, who considerately hangs them right there in the foyer instead of taking them off to get lost on some bed in a spare room or something. Apparently, they know the drill about how we might have to jet at a moment's notice.
Sal takes me and Street both under his wing, steering us through the space. We get fleeting introductions to about thirty cousins and aunts and uncles before we make it to the kitchen, where the rest of the crew are assembling plates.
And okay, I always wondered if Jaquan was overselling things, but apparently not. This stuff looks amazing.
Walker hands me a plate, and I shamelessly pile it high. Street does likewise. When I hit the point where I can't possibly cram any more on there, I turn, looking for the others.
All over again, the sheer size of Sal's extended family takes me aback.
But then there's Cory, standing just inside the doorway to the kitchen. He catches my eye and smiles softly, and the tension in my chest melts away.
He leads me and Street through the house to what I imagine is a back bedroom, but which has been turned into a place for the kids' table. A few rug rats are still flinging mashed potatoes at each other, but the place is mostly cleared out. The sounds of happy shrieking outside the open window solve that mystery; all the big kids have gone off to play in the snow, leaving this place more or less a sanctuary.
