“Okay…well, I’d stop giving that one beer.” Shifting her focus from one girl to the other, she finished, “And maybe feed that one so she doesn’t…” Juliet extended her arms inches in front of her own breasts, illustrating the size of her target’s chest, “you know, tip over. Little…uh, top heavy over there.”
When the girl in question raised her brow and more of that chronic confusion pierced her expression while looking down at her chest, Juliet tossed her a backhanded compliment. Because why not? “Great surgeon, by the way. I can barely tell.”
Jack half-snorted at Juliet’s wit, and the fact that she didn’t give two shits about being an asshole to a stranger. “Sound advice, Doc.”
“Nurse,” she corrected.
Jack knew full well Juliet Walker was a nurse. He also knew how old she was, that she worked way too much, and needed to get laid, but she didn’t need to know he knew everything he needed to about her. “Nurse?”
“Yes, Juliet Walker RN. I save lives.”
“So, you do have a name, and it only took you two years to introduce yourself. Jack. Jack Decker, frat boy, when I’m not saving lives, and firefighter otherwise.” Juliet’s name was no mystery either. Again, he knew all about her. He wasn’t a stalker who went through her mail and snuck in her house through open windows to sniff her panties or anything. He had friends on the force who ran plates on someone’s car for him and dished out everything he wanted to know. Not creepy. It’s important to know who your neighbors are these days.
Though Juliet put on a good front, her game wasn’t solid. She played that she was surprised by his introduction, but everyone in town knew who he was. He was Jack Decker, after all.
“Firefighter? No more candles for me,” she said under her breath, but loud enough for him to hear as she started to walk away.
“Hey, Jules,” Jack hollered.
She stopped abruptly and slowly turned like it hurt every cell in her body to twist in his direction and give him an ounce more of attention. “It’s Juliet.”
“Yeah…” he acknowledged. “So, does it hurt?”
Through semi-gritted teeth, she spat, “Does what hurt?”
As nonchalantly as he could, Jack dropped the evening closer, determined to win this battle. “That stick up your ass. Seeing how you’re a fancy nurse and save all the lives, I bet you know someone who can…I don’t know…take a look at that. Maybe even help you remove it.”
Laughter filled the air as the group of party gawkers reminded them they had an audience.
“Oh…really, cute. Yeah, I’ll look into that…thanks.” Juliet tossed a hand to her hip and threw a little shade of her own that would no doubt ruin the rest of Jack’s night, even if he was Jack “The Pecker” Decker. “Don’t be a stranger around the ER now. I hope that rash is better, and nothing…fell off.”
When Frenchie…or maybe it was Bambi, removed her arm from Jack and took a fumbling drunk step back, Juliet had won, and Jack was happy to give her the trophy.
With a deep, throaty laugh, he said, “It’s doing great! I’d love to show you sometime.”
From over her shoulder, Juliet yelled, “I bet you would,” before walking up her steps and slamming her front door, chirping her own car alarm once inside.
***
Juliet was chatting over coffee in the hospital café with her friend and yoga instructor, Stormy. Stormy held a weekly session there for expecting moms and geriatric patients. Odd combo, but that was Stormy.
“I’m so tired, annoyed…and edgy. My jackass neighbor kept me up all night.”
“You mean Jack Decker?” Stormy couldn’t hide her enthusiasm. “Did you stay over at his place, or was he at yours? Is it true what they say about his bedroom?”
“How do you know Jack Decker is my neighbor? I don’t know any of your neighbors…well, accept your mom, but only because it’s technically her house.”
Stormy rolled her eyes. “I know where you live, and I know where Jack lives, so…”
“Oh my God, you’re not one of his Friday nights, are you?” Juliet knew about Jack’s Friday nights, and his Saturday through Thursday nights. It was why he made her skin itch.
“No! God no. I mean, not that it would be a bad thing, you know…if you were his Friday night. But no.” Stormy cleaned up her unintentional almost insult. “Everyone with ovaries knows where the mighty Jack Decker lives.”
“That’s disgusting. He’s that big of a manwhore? Ew.” Juliet shook her head with a sour face. She could only imagine what a petri dish could grow from Jack’s sheets. Well, if he was a do-it-in-the-bed kinda guy. It probably wasn’t wise to set anything on any of his tables…or sit on his furniture. She’d just continue to avoid the place since it likely needed to be burned to the ground in order to fully sanitize.
“He’s also the reason the park is its busiest from ten-thirty-seven a.m. to eleven-oh-two a.m.” Stormy winked.
Odd, Juliet thought. “What? Why?”
“Because that’s when his morning run winds through the park.”
“Oh my God, are you kidding me?” A look of utter disgust danced on Juliet’s face. This conversation just got…icky. “Just for a glance at Jack ‘The Pecker’ Decker?”
“Have you seen the man run? It’s a sight to behold. Like heaven in sneakers. Everything’s so…tight, yet it all…moves,” Stormy said in a breathy tone, batting her lashes at the vision she was painting.
With scolding judgment in her eyes and tone, Juliet chided, “Seriously, Stormy, you surprise me! That’s beneath you.”
“Well, beneath me and about forty other women,” Stormy snorted without shame. “Some don’t even have kids. You know, I’ve actually witnessed a woman shoving a kid to the ground just so it’ll cry and Jack will stop. You know—fireman, first aid, and all that?”
Grabbing her chest with an equally dramatic gasp, Juliet shook her head. “That’s awful. Grown women?”
“I don’t even think it was her kid!” Stormy nodded in sympathy, paper coffee cup resting at her lips.
Nearly choking, Juliet spat what little coffee remained in her mouth. “That’s unbelievable!”
“Watch sometime. See for yourself,” Stormy continued with confidence. “When do you think most of the women around here water their plants and grass? Eleven-oh-three a.m.”
“NO!” Juliet couldn’t believe it. That many women, were that desperate for one man’s attention? A man who had given attention to all the women across three or four counties?
“Fact. The Craven widow washes her car every Wednesday at that time — in high heels and booty shorts with her hair as high as Watermark Tower. I mean, who wears heels and booty shorts to wash their car?” Stormy questioned, as if the heels and booty shorts were the real zinger.
Just when Juliet thought she knew her neighbors. “She’s got to be…what? In her late fifties, early sixties?”
Stormy shrugged, finishing off her coffee. “She’s got the tits and ass of a twenty-five-year-old. Mr. Craven was Dr. Craven — plastic surgeon.”
“Women still act like that in this day and age? So much for feminism,” Juliet concluded.
Stormy was enjoying the education she was bestowing on her dear friend. “He’s a legend, and legends trump everything. Everyone wants to try out his…hose.”
“Hose? Is that what we’re calling it? I don’t care how good he is with his hose. That’s just demeaning.” Juliet wasn’t much of a marching feminist. She cared about issues, but supported views in other ways. Jack Decker, however, made her want to march and burn bras on his lawn. That man was single handedly taking women back decades.
“Well, when you have a ‘fire’ to put out,” Stormy said with air quotes, “would you want the guy with a sprinkler or a nice girthy, sturdy hose who can go all night until…the fire is out?”
Juliet’s jaw dropped at the level of innuendo her friend had stooped to. “I can’t believe you, Stormy Bradford!”
She shrugged. “I can’t believe yo
u live next to the most sought-after hose in town and haven’t once set your lawn on fire. You’re cute and your ass is perfect. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind helping you with a midnight emergency.”
“Stop it. Just stop,” Juliet laughed, tossing napkins at her friend. “Jack Decker comes near me with that hose and I’ll put it out of commission — for good.”
“You’re still taking kickboxing then?” Stormy snorted.
“You bet your tight, bounce-a-dime-off, fireman ass on it.” Juliet didn’t realize she’d just walked right into it.
“A dime? So, you have seen him run…and don’t you mean hose?”
***
Jack wound up back at the firehouse after his morning run through the park. Some of the guys were out front washing one of the engines and thought dousing him with water to cool him off would be the friendly thing to do. They got him with the hose.
“Man, that should have played in slow motion for your fans,” Landon, one of the guys, said.
“My what?” Jack asked while catching his breath, genuinely confused.
“Your fans, bro.” Griff, the engine chief, nodded past Jack.
When Jack turned around, a group of mommy walkers stalked from across the street in the park like it was natural to huddle in a pack that large. They quickly whipped their heads the other direction, pretending they were tending to the babies in strollers and not visually groping Jack from afar. They were like a hungry flock of vultures trying to decide who was going to do the death dive and take out their prey. Maybe it was the way they were looking at him, or perhaps it was the drool, but they were suffering from hungry, and it wasn’t for peanut butter and jelly. It was something else they wanted. Something more…filling.
“Oh, it’s just a Mommy and Me class or something.” Jack shrugged off the accusation, pretending he didn’t see what the guys saw. Truth was, he was used to it.
“Right,” Griff laughed. “Strange how they only have class when you’re on duty.”
“You’re saying a cluster of women plan their lives — their children’s lives — around my running schedule?” Jack shook his head in disbelief, waiting for them to fire back with the usual bullshit.
Landon jumped down from the ladder and leaned against the truck. “I heard a woman shoved a kid down in the park once just so you’d stop and offer first aid, and it wasn’t even her kid.”
“Bullshit,” Jack replied. “No fuckin’ way.”
Landon tossed his hands up. “True story, man. Rumor has it, the Craven widow has to have her car repainted because she washes it too much. Again, only on your running days.”
Jack crossed his arms, pondering as he scratched his chin. “She does seem to wash her car a lot.” He shrugged, giving up. “But you can’t believe everything you hear.”
“Word has it you have the biggest hose in the house and women are fighting over who gets to slide down your pole next,” Jarret laughed.
“Yeah…well, when you got it…” Jack started as he grabbed himself for dramatic measure, forgetting he had an audience of horny moms watching and likely sharing his every move on social media. “Don’t be jealous, boys.”
“Hey, I think one of those ladies just fainted when you jerked it, man.” Jack was walking away, laughing, when Jarret hollered, just loud enough for the mommy mob, “Don’t trip over that hose, bro.”
“I’ll try not to — it’s become an occupational and bedroom hazard. It’s tough being Jack Decker.”
“The only thing big on this one is his head,” came a voice from around the corner. Marty, their dispatcher, and the grumpy lady who took care of them all. When her choice of words earned a snicker, she set them straight. “The other head. You’re like a bunch of twelve-year-olds. You’ve seen the size of his big red pick-up truck, and you know what they say about men with big trucks.”
Jack knew where she was going, and he wasn’t letting her take a hit for free — he was going to make her say it. “They have big tires?”
She rolled her eyes, totally onto his game. She’d invented it, after all. “That they’re compensating for something that’s a bit too small, you jackass.”
“I just like red, Marty,” Jack teased. “I also needed it to haul around my big—”
With her hand in front of his face quicker than a trigger-happy cowboy at an old western shoot out, Marty shut him down. “Stop while you’re ahead, kid. Make sure you duck as you walk through that there door. You don’t want to hit your ego on your way out.” She turned to face the group of men. “As for the rest of you, watch what you say around here. Quit acting like hooligans and be professionals. Now, I’ll be upstairs making your dinner. Not that any of you deserve it — especially you.” She poked a finger at Jack’s chest, who just tossed an arm around her and kissed the top of her head.
Marty was a piece of work, but she was special. No bullshit, shoot-from-the-hip, call-it-as-she-saw-it-with-no-regrets — that was Marty. She took care of the guys at the firehouse, but Jack was the one she took care of most, because he needed her most. He had no family to call his own, and sometimes a guy needed a mom, so she filled in here and there, but never made her affections for him public.
“Get your arm off me, or they’ll start calling you Wack Pecker because that’s the only action you’ll be seeing when I’m done,” Marty scolded. Then, under her breath, she chided, “Too damn pretty for your own good…the lot of ya.”
Jack chuckled, knowing full well Marty loved the attention the guys gave her when she took care of them. He looked over his shoulder and announced, “Barbeque at my house tonight.”
The crowd went wild.
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Liar (a FAUX-MANCE novel) Page 16
