Hold Me Now

by J. H. Croix

  Maisie rolled her eyes. “So cocky.”

  I laughed, thinking about how obvious their love for each other was. They had a warm, teasing relationship. “You can be a bitch if it helps to adjust to moving here,” Beck commented. “Although that doesn't really seem like your speed.” I opened my mouth to say something when he added, “Well, except when it comes to Russell. You're gonna have to figure that out now that you two are roommates.”

  “We've already figured it out,” I ground out, trying not to grit my teeth.

  He nodded. “Good then.”

  Maisie met my eyes, a knowing glint in hers, but I ignored it and was relieved to hear Janet call my name when she set a small paper bag on the counter. “I'm sure I'll see you two back at the station.” With a wave, I snatched the bag and practically ran out of the café.

  Chapter Six

  Russell

  “Herman's in a tree. Again.” Maisie’s eyes twinkled as she looked at me from where she sat at the reception desk. She covered dispatch and functioned as the control center for both the police and fire crews.

  “Of course he is. That happens on the regular,” I replied. We were discussing Herman, the cat that belonged to Carrie Dodge, an elderly woman who called over for cat rescues whenever Herman and her younger cat got themselves into a fix. “Isn't he getting old?” I mused.

  Maisie shrugged. “I’m sure he is, which means he's probably half-blind.”

  I dipped my chin in agreement. “True. Where's the town crew?”

  “They're out dealing with a fire. That's why I'm asking you,” Maisie explained.

  Graham appeared in the front and heard the tail end of our conversation. “I asked her to ask you,” he said.

  I glanced over with a grin. “All right, all right. Anybody going with me?”

  “Paisley,” Graham replied, just as the woman in question came through the swinging door from the hallway into the front area behind him.

  Her smile was careful, but then Paisley was always careful when it came to me. I felt a prickle of awareness chase up my spine, immediately followed by the inconvenient desire that sizzled through me whenever I saw her. Annoyance came on the heels of lust because that was apparently how I coped with this awkward and inconvenient attraction.

  I hoped my smile was as bland as hers. “You might as well help me rescue Herman. It's a regular thing for the town crew, but they're dealing with a fire.”

  Paisley nodded. “That's why I asked her to go,” Graham added—unnecessarily, I thought—when I met his eyes.

  I could’ve sworn there was a knowing glint there, but I ignored it. There was no way he could have picked up on my raw lust for Paisley. He sure as hell didn't need to know about it because I was going to banish it firmly into nowhere land once and for all. We were practically living together now.

  “Do we need our gear?” Paisley asked as I turned to leave through the front.

  Maisie, Graham, and I replied in unison, “No.”

  Paisley looked amongst us, slightly puzzled. “Well, that was quick.”

  “We just need the cherry picker truck. Come on, we can ride together.”

  Maisie tossed me a set of keys from behind the desk. “All yours. Have fun.” She immediately took a call, answering with, “Willow Brook Fire and Rescue, how can I help you?”

  With a nod to Graham, I left with Paisley walking beside me. As we approached the truck, she offered, “I can drive.”

  I should’ve thought about my answer before I said it. As was the case with Paisley almost all the time, I didn't. “No need. I got it.”

  She stopped walking, and I turned to glance back. “What?” she pressed. “Is this a guy thing where a woman can’t drive the big boy truck?”

  Annoyance pricked at me again. “It's not a big boy truck.”

  Paisley rested a hand on her hip, one brow arching up. “Really? They make trucks like this for kids to play with, but they’re not just for boys.”

  I wanted to argue, but I refused to take the bait and simply handed the keys over. Her fingers brushed mine when she took them from me, and it felt like fire dancing over the surface of my skin.

  A moment later, she had started the truck and pulled to the end of the parking area. “Where to?” she asked after a long moment.

  “Oh, right. You haven't been to Carrie's place. Take a left and head toward Anchorage. She's just past the town proper on the main highway.”

  We drove in silence. My knees felt scrunched up because it was a bench seat, and Paisley was short. I wasn't about to say a word about it, though, because I knew if I did, she'd snap back at me. Hard.

  “You can take the next left,” I said a few minutes later, thinking this truck felt awfully small.

  Not only were my knees crammed against the glove compartment, but the air felt loaded with a charge about to go off. I’d never even thought about the space inside this truck, and I'd ridden in it plenty of times with many people. But then, I was with Paisley. Basically, everything that made me uncomfortable was Paisley's fault, I decided.

  The blinker sounded loud in the truck. She turned onto the road that would take us to Carrie’s house. “So, who's Carrie?” she asked, her tone conversational and carefully polite.

  “Carrie Dodge. Born and raised in Willow Brook. She has a nice spread out here. It’s an old homestead.” I paused before adding, “We've got about two miles to go. You'll see a mailbox. That's hers.”

  “When you say homestead, what do you mean?” Paisley interjected after she nodded in response to my comment.

  “It’s a carryover from the old legislation where people could stake a claim for a homestead as long as they cultivated some of the land. You can’t do that anymore, but plenty of families ended up here that way before. Carrie has subdivided hers over the years, but she still has a lot of property. She and her husband have lived out here for as long as I can recall, and he passed away a while back. Her cat Herman has a penchant for climbing trees. We had to take her excavator away because one time, she tried to get him out herself in the excavator, and the excavator fell in a ditch. She didn't get hurt, but it was kind of a project to deal with.”

  Paisley glanced sideways, her eyes wide. “Are you serious?”

  “Absolutely,” I said, putting a hand over my heart and making the sign of the cross. “I'm not really sure how old she is, but she loves her cat, and he's adventurous. She doesn't even call the emergency line anymore. She just calls the main number and whoever's available goes out. Usually, it's the town crew, but we all help.”

  “I like that here,” Paisley said after a moment.

  “What do you mean?”

  “In some areas, hotshot crews can be kind of snooty. It is a different kind of work than town firefighting, but I figure there's no need to be territorial, especially when you're based in a town.”

  “Completely agree. We all pitch in.”

  “Is that it?” she asked next, pointing at the lone mailbox up ahead.

  “Yep.”

  A few minutes later, we were parked in front of Carrie's house. She was waiting for us on the porch and waved as we climbed out. “He's over there.” She pointed at a tree. When she looked back toward us, her eyes narrowed when they landed on Paisley. “I've never seen you before,” Carrie said as she stepped off her porch and gingerly walked toward us. She insisted on not using a cane or walker, although she could’ve used some help with her balance. Fortunately, the ground was level, and Paisley moved as fast as I did to meet her halfway.

  “This is Paisley,” I said when we stopped in front of Carrie.

  Carrie eyed Paisley and even cocked her head to the side as if she was trying to assess her. “You're not from Willow Brook.”

  “No, ma'am,” Paisley said with a small smile.

  “And you're another one of those girls who wants to be a firefighter.”

  Paisley laughed softly. “I am a firefighter.”

  Carry lifted her chin slightly before nodding. “That
you are. I'm sure the women are better at it than the men anyway.” With this, she gave me a dismissive wave.

  I knew enough to keep my mouth shut. Paisley's eyes slid to mine, and I saw the mirth glinting there. “So, who's handling the truck?” Carrie asked next.

  I literally had to grit my teeth to stay quiet. Paisley surprised me by gesturing to me. “Why don't we let Russell do that part?”

  “Herman's friendly when you get to him. I think he's going blind,” Carrie offered.

  “He made it up that tree,” Paisley said as she eyed the cat where he was perched high in the tree. He let out an audible meow as he looked down at us. Paisley tossed me the keys, and I walked back to the truck.

  Moments later, I was parked as close as I could get to the tree, and Paisley climbed in the cherry picker. It only took a few minutes before she had Herman in her arms. After I lowered the basket, Paisley climbed out and handed Herman to Carrie.

  She began fussing over him, rubbing under his chin and murmuring against his fur. She smiled over at us. “Thank you. Would you like some cookies?”

  Paisley looked surprised at that, but I wasn’t. “We’d love some,” I replied. “Do you have enough for me to take back to the station?” She often made cookies for the crews.

  “I sure do. I have a fresh batch of chocolate chip cookies. Let me get Herman settled, and I’ll be right out.”

  Paisley and I waited outside while Carrie returned Herman to the house. As soon as the door closed behind her, Paisley looked over at me. “Cookies?”

  I grinned. “She likes making them. We like eating them.”

  “How often do we rescue her cat?”

  “Maybe a few times a year. He's an explorer, you could say. I heard she got a kitten too, but I haven’t been called out to rescue the kitten yet.”

  Paisley snorted, stuffing her hands in her pockets and idly tracing a circle in the gravel with the toe of her boot. Carrie returned and handed the cookies to Paisley, who commented, “Oh, these are still warm!”

  Carrie smiled. “Keep that man in line,” she called as we walked away.

  I was about to toss the keys back to Paisley, but she surprised me by saying, “Why don't you drive? You don’t need to squish your knees up against the glove compartment. I wasn't thinking about that when I offered to drive on the way here.”

  “I'll take you up on that.” I chuckled.

  Only seconds after we were back in the truck, the space felt crowded again. We were quiet for most of the drive, and I found myself struggling to make casual conversation. I needed to figure this shit out because she was sort of my roommate now.

  “Sleep okay?” I heard myself asking, kicking myself mentally as soon as I did.

  The minute I thought about sleep, I recalled how I had only fallen asleep last night by taking care of myself as thoughts of her filled my mind. Fuck me.

  Chapter Seven

  Paisley

  Russell wanted to know how I slept? Answering that question required lying. Not that it was a big deal, but lying was a sore spot for me lately. I wasn't about to tell him that I'd had a restless night of sleep because I could hardly stop thinking about him. He’d crowded my dreams, and I woke up aroused. Soooo freaking annoying.

  “Fine,” I sort of squeaked. “The bed’s comfortable.”

  Oh, Jesus. I was commenting on the bed.

  “I know it's not a great situation for me to be there. We work together, and maybe it's weird for us to be roommates or whatever. I'll talk to your mom and make sure she doesn't think it's your responsibility. If you could just give me a little time to find another place, I’m sure it won’t take too long.” Now, there was another lie. I’d been looking since I’d landed in Willow Brook. Arriving at the tail end of the tourist season meant most places were already booked. I’d also learned many of them closed once the tourists left.

  The silence following that felt loaded. Although it was hard for it to feel more loaded than the space inside this truck. The air felt the way it did before a storm when it was heavy with electricity. Any second now, lightning would sizzle through the air with a loud crack of thunder to follow. Maybe that would relieve the tension, although I doubted it.

  I felt Russell's eyes on me when he glanced sideways as he slowed to turn onto the highway. My head turned on its own. The moment I collided with his gaze, it felt like a flame running up a fuse. I looked away quickly.

  “It's really not necessary,” he said. “We have an entire floor between us. I'm sure we can find a way to get along. We did eat pizza together last night without arguing.” His laugh was dry.

  I stared out the window. It was funny but not really. “We did,” I finally said. When I looked back in his direction, his eyes were trained on the road again, and I was relieved. Eye contact with Russell was dangerous for my hormones. “I'll keep an eye out to see if any rentals open. If something comes along, I'll take it. In the meantime, I'll stay put.”

  I crossed my fingers where they sat in my lap and took a deep breath.

  “Are you crossing your fingers?” he asked with a teasing lilt.

  I whipped my gaze sideways, colliding with his eyes. I felt the flare of heat in my cheeks and shrugged. “Maybe I was. You're obviously used to having your own space. It’s just—” I paused abruptly, gathering my thoughts. “We’ve already had some issues at work. I don't want to make things worse.”

  I didn't know how to read into his gaze. The look there was inscrutable and dark. He simply nodded. A few minutes later, we were back at Willow Brook Fire & Rescue, and I practically ran into the station, relieved to have other people around.

  After work that evening, I went to the grocery store and got a few things. I was a notoriously bad cook. My poor mother tried to teach me, but it didn’t help much. I liked good food as much as anyone. I just didn't seem to have the instinct for how to make it. I could handle the basics, but prepared foods were a godsend for me.

  I didn't realize how tightly I was gripping the steering wheel when I drove down the driveway to my shared house. I hit a little bump and had to slow down and force myself to loosen my grip. I was worried Russell was going to be home, and I was really hoping he wouldn't. I was so attuned to his presence that I knew, even with an entire floor between us, there would be that subtle vibration of awareness humming through me. I let out a sigh of relief when his truck was not in the gravel parking area.

  I hustled inside and put away my groceries and started to make macaroni and cheese. I had just set a pot of water on the stove when I heard the sound of tires on the gravel. My pulse sped up in anticipation. I tried, oh how I tried, to stay calm and cool inside. A minute later, he walked into the kitchen.

  His eyes landed on me. “Hey there, what are you making?”

  “Macaroni and cheese.” His gaze bounced from me to the pot on the stove and then to the box.

  “Out of a box?” he prompted, bringing his eyes back to mine.

  I felt my cheeks get hot because apparently, I just got hot whenever I was around him. I nodded. “Yeah. Is there a problem with that?” My tone sounded snappy.

  “There’s not a problem, but homemade mac and cheese is definitely way better.”

  He set some grocery bags down on the counter, and I watched in silence as he unloaded actual food. Aside from a few boxes of pasta, everything else was fresh. “Do you like to cook?” he asked after he finished putting everything away.

  I was still stuck in place. When I realized that, I quickly stirred the pot of water. I hadn’t even added the macaroni yet. Dear God. This man had reduced me to stirring water.

  “I'm not that good at it,” I finally said. I didn't see any sense in lying.

  Russell blinked at me like he wasn't sure what I had said. “What do you mean you're not good at it?”

  “I'm not good at cooking,” I ground out. “That's why I make things out of the box. I get what I expect, and I can’t really screw it up.”

  His brows hitched up. He definitely loo
ked doubtful. “I suppose so,” he said slowly. “Well, if you don't mind, I'm gonna make an actual meal.”

  I reached for the box. “This is an actual meal.”

  His lips twitched. “Sure, but homemade is better,” he offered with a wink.

  “Like I said, I'm not so good at cooking.” I felt sheepish and annoyed. But annoyed was an almost constant state of being around Russell. I didn’t even like considering the fact my annoyance was tangled up in my arousal. Just now, my belly was tingling as the heat bloomed through my body, and my pulse was galloping along faster than an excited pony.

  “If you're in the mood for mac and cheese, I can make a homemade batch right now,” he offered. “I can whip it up in about twenty minutes, and then it’ll need time to bake.”

  I wanted to say no, I really did, but that felt rude. The man just offered to make me homemade mac and cheese, and I had to work with him. This was an excellent example of why it was such a bad idea for us to share space. “I'm not asking you to make me dinner,” I mumbled.

  “I know you're not asking. I offered.” When he turned to look at me, I saw that familiar annoyance flashing in his eyes.

  Sometimes, it felt like we were cymbals clanging against each other—clash, clash, clash—and I just wanted to relieve all that tension. I knew one surefire away to do it, but that was insane.

  I finally shrugged. “If you'd like.”

  Russell leaned his head back, staring up at the ceiling. He leveled his gaze with mine again, replying, “I offered, and I’m cooking anyway. I have all the stuff to make it, so why don't we just do that?”

  “We?” I questioned, my tone too sharp.

  “Yes, that would be you and me. That's we,” he explained patiently.

  “Okay. Can I help?” I was feeling like a curmudgeon at this point. I also worried I was walking into a conversational trap.

  “Sure, why don't you grate the cheese and boil water?” He gestured to the pot of water I had already put on the stove.