by Jules Court
He picked up his phone and checked the time. It was only nine o’clock, not too late to call Danny. No more texts. He was over this texting shit. In fact, next time Elizabeth texted him, he was going to call her back instead.
Danny answered just as Will was ready to leave a voice mail. “What’s up?”
“How’d you land Erin?”
“Odd thing to lead with. And they say I have no social graces.”
How did Will say “there’s someone I want to be my girlfriend” without sounding like a middle schooler? Prior to the whole calendar debacle, he’d had relationships. It’d been easy. A little flirting, a few jokes, go to dinner, then bam!—you’re a couple. Never even had to try. He didn’t even know how to try.
He rubbed a hand over his face and then spoke the mortifying words. “There’s this woman.”
“She like you?”
Did Elizabeth like him? She’d invited him over; that had to mean something. “Yeah.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“She wants to have sex with me.”
Danny was usually Captain Grim, so hearing him laugh was surprising. When he stopped, he said in a choked voice, “That’s usually not a problem.”
In the background, Will heard a woman’s voice speaking and then the phone changed hands. “You’re getting advice from the wrong person,” Erin said.
“So how did Danny win you over?”
“Cake. Cake and unbelievable sex.”
“Then I should sleep with her even though she doesn’t want a relationship?”
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“Are you going to feel like you deserve a relationship if she sleeps with you? In other words, if you have sex and she loses your number, are you going to be a total dickbag?”
“I’m not a dickbag,” he said with indignation.
Erin’s voice softened. “Then be up front. Don’t try to backdoor your way into her heart. And if you actually want to be with her, put a little effort in. We all like you, Will, but you’ve got to admit that you just let things happen.”
“I’m easygoing.”
“There’s easygoing and then there’s afraid to try. Just think about it. Here’s Danny.”
Danny’s voice came back on the line. “Food. What’s your go-to recipe?”
This was what Will needed, concrete advice, not armchair psychoanalysis. “I can make scrambled eggs.”
“Not going to get it done. When are you seeing her?”
“Tomorrow. I’m going over to her place.”
“Tell her you’re bringing dinner. Come over tomorrow and we’ll whip up something for you to bring.” Erin’s muffled voice sounded in the background. “And a chocolate hazelnut torte,” Danny added. “It’s a closer.”
Chapter Seven
Will pulled into the driveway of the last place he’d pictured Elizabeth living. This was a two-point-five kids, golden retriever, white picket fence neighborhood. She was about ten years too young for the two-story colonial house. He rang the doorbell, convinced he was in the wrong place up until the moment she answered the door barefoot. Her toes were painted bright red even though she wore no polish on her fingernails.
“You have a house in the suburbs,” he said. “How old are you again? I can barely afford the rent on a one-bedroom with drafty windows and zero closet space. And you live alone?”
She swung the door wider so he could enter. “Just me,” she said with a tight smile.
He followed her past the small entryway into a bright, spacious kitchen that was probably bigger than his entire apartment. He lifted the bag he was carrying. “I brought dinner,” he said. He unslung the duffel bag from his shoulder. “And my laundry.”
“Thanks for dinner,” she said. “Where’d you pick it up from?”
“Homemade.” He put the bag down on the counter and began pulling Tupperware out. “Lemon chicken, roasted new potatoes with rosemary, and asparagus. With chocolate hazelnut torte for dessert.”
She came up next to him and her arm brushed his. “You can cook?”
“I was going to try and pass it off as my own, but a friend made it.”
“Well, your friend’s a good cook. This looks awesome.”
“He’s actually my brother’s partner—my brother’s a police officer.”
“I’ve met your brother, remember,” she said with a smile. “Is your brother’s partner still the same guy. Daniel Cruz?”
“You know Danny?”
“It was the worst date of my life.”
“Wait. You went out with Danny?”
“We didn’t make it through dinner. He didn’t talk to me at all and then Erin, one of Priya’s friends, showed up and they got in some sort of weird argument. He got up and walked out on me. It was horrible.”
“You know, he’s dating her now.”
“Erin?” She began pulling plates out. Unlike his, her plates matched.
“Yeah.”
“Does he talk to her?”
“She says she can’t shut him up,” he said. “Let’s circle back to you going on a date. This anti-dating stance is new?” Maybe she’d been married young and was now divorced. That would explain how gun-shy she was.
She pointed toward a doorway. “Laundry room is through there if you want to throw your stuff in.”
“Nice try. I am going to put my laundry in, but you aren’t off the hook.”
The laundry room was only big enough for the washer and dryer and a small wooden drying rack with a few bras dangling from it. He quickly looked away because he didn’t want her coming in and catching him staring creepily at her lingerie. There wasn’t any sign of men’s clothes anywhere. He found some detergent and upended the contents of his duffel into the washer, wondering if he could ask for a tour of the house. He wanted to know everything about her.
* * *
Elizabeth’s hand hovered over the wine rack holding a bottle of mid-priced merlot. Was wine with dinner sending the wrong signal? What signal was she even trying to send? He was in her house. The house where she’d struggled to raise Megan. She didn’t bring men here. What had she been thinking?
She snatched the bottle and pulled two wineglasses down from the cabinet. She was fumbling with the corkscrew when Will came back in.
“Here, let me,” he said, taking the corkscrew from her hand. He was so close, she could have reached out and brushed back the red hair that was tumbling over his forehead. It looked like it would be silky to the touch. Her fingertips tingled and she yanked her hand back before she touched him. She stepped back as he deftly uncorked the wine.
He poured it into the glasses and passed one to her. “What do we toast to?” he asked.
She gave a wide smile and raised her glass. “To someone else cooking for a change.” She tipped her glass back and took an overly generous swallow. She bent over, coughing and sputtering. A warm hand gently rubbed between her shoulder blades.
“You okay?” Will asked.
She straightened up, her face burning. “Fine,” she said. “Let’s eat.”
* * *
This was turning into a date. Elizabeth sipped her wine and listened to Will narrate life at the fire station. The kitchen light picked out the red glints in his hair and his green eyes crinkled with good humor.
“Did you always want to be a firefighter?”
“Doesn’t every little boy dream of it?”
“You don’t answer direct questions, do you?”
“Says the Queen of Avoiding.”
“I’m not—” She bit off her instinctive rebuttal. Just because there were things she didn’t want to talk about didn’t mean she was an avoider. Who dumps all their problems out on someone they just met?
/> “Tell you what,” Will said. He leaned forward. “You answer one of my questions and I’ll answer one of yours. No holding back.”
“That’s silly.”
“Chicken?”
“That’s real mature. Fine. Give me your best shot, tough guy.”
He gave a quick laugh before his expression turned pensive. His eyes flickered to the left, before coming back to meet her gaze. “My family all have—” he paused for a moment, as though searching for the right word “—big personalities. I’m the youngest. I guess I always felt overshadowed,” he said with a brave openness she didn’t think she’d ever possessed. “At first, I think I wanted something concrete. To do something that made me feel, I don’t know, solid. Not just dreamy Will who doodled in notebooks. If I was a firefighter, then I would be someone. But along the way, it became less about me. You must feel it too being an ER nurse. How helping people changes you.”
She’d never planned on becoming a nurse. It was never her dream, just a practical solution to the immediate question of how best to take care of Megan. But he was right, it had changed her. “I don’t know that I could do anything else now,” she said. “Although, there are still days I dream of running away to a deserted island to live off coconuts and rainwater.”
“Some days are better than others. Some days you get to save a life. Three months ago, one of those Victorian houses converted into apartments caught on fire. Those things are tinderboxes. All it took was one spark from some faulty wiring. When we arrived, all the residents were out except for an elderly woman, Mrs. Murphy. The flames were already licking at the door when I took my axe to it. Luckily, she lived on the first floor and I found her right away. She was huddled on the floor. The smoke was too much for her. But I was able to pick up her up and make it to the front door. I’d just made it to the door when the ceiling collapsed.” A beatific smile lit up his face. “We gave Mrs. Murphy some oxygen and she was treated for some superficial wounds, but she was okay. She stopped by the firehouse last week with cookies—she usually brings some by on Sunday after church.”
As he spoke, she felt her throat tighten. He’d almost died. An icy hand gripped her heart. Once again, she was picking up the phone to hear the words that changed everything. She didn’t want to be that sad broken girl. The girl everyone left.
“That was a bad day,” she said, squeezing it out of her throat.
“No, that was a good day. It reminded me why I do this job—it’s not for the calendar. And it reminded me that life is short.”
The way he was looking at her reminded her of how it had felt to get herself off while he watched. She tried not to squirm from the sudden rush of sensation between her thighs. Under her thin T-shirt, her nipples tightened.
“You owe me a question,” he said.
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
“Can you feel what’s happening between us, too?” he asked.
She squeezed her eyes shut. It’s only physical.
“Then why are you running?” he asked gently.
“One question,” she said. Her voice was rough and she looked down to see her hands were shaking. Strange.
This wasn’t going to happen. He wasn’t going to just slide into her life. Not this way.
He took a swallow of wine and she watched the muscles in his throat work. “Are you done eating?” she asked.
“That’s your question?”
She stood up so quickly, her chair rocked back. She deliberately rounded the table to stand behind him. She leaned forward so her breast grazed his arm, and she slowly reached forward and picked up his plate.
She walked over to the sink with swaying hips, each footstep an invitation. When she reached the sink, she placed the plates down and stood braced. She felt more than heard him coming.
His body was a hot brand against her back, his breath warm on her neck as his arms came around and he rested his hands on the sink just outside hers, effectively caging her. She could feel the hard ridge of his cock against her ass right through her jeans.
“Fuck it,” he growled, and he pulled her hair away to kiss her neck.
Her hands gripped the ledge tighter as his mouth sent sparks shooting off throughout her body. She pressed herself back against him.
He roughly whirled her around so they were pressed front to front, so close she could see the ring of gold around his pupils. Their mouths found each other and she could only cling to him as they kissed wildly. His lips were paradoxically soft and firm.
He ground his erection against the seam of her jeans and she moaned in reaction. Her fumbling hands found the hem of his T-shirt and she yanked, freeing his mouth so she could pull the material over his head.
His chest was hard and smooth and even more beautiful in person. She tongued one flat brown nipple. She wanted him fast and hard. She wanted him to drive all the sadness out of her until only pleasure remained.
His hands tangled in her hair, a delicious pain. “Jesus Christ,” he said in a strangled voice. “Wait a minute. This is going too—”
She licked a trail down his flat stomach and let her tongue dip into his navel. He smelled incredible and tasted even better.
“Fuck,” he said.
That’s right. She unbuttoned his jeans and lowered the zipper, eager to find him. To feel the weight of his cock in her hands, to take him into her mouth and feel him grow harder. Something she couldn’t get from her beloved vibrator.
She was so intent, she didn’t notice at first when Will froze. It took another moment for the sounds to register. The front door opening. Fuck.
She jumped back just as Megan entered the kitchen, her eyes growing wide at the sight of her big sister with her hands in some dude’s pants.
“Holy shit, what’s going on?” Megan asked. “Never mind. I don’t want to know.” She slammed a hand over her eyes. “This is so gross!”
Will dove for his shirt at the same time Elizabeth bent down to retrieve it. They banged heads. “Ouch!” she yelped.
Will gently rubbed her forehead. “Sorry.” His green eyes were warm and there was an amused affection in his voice.
She tried not to lean into his touch. Straightening, she said, “You should probably go.”
He blinked. “What?”
“And put your shirt on.” Her hand reached out automatically to touch him and she snatched it back. This was bad. Megan was watching and he was going to leave anyway, so he should leave now.
He shrugged back into his T-shirt and turned to face a stunned Megan. “Hi, I’m Will,” he announced, as if Megan hadn’t caught him half naked in her kitchen.
Megan gave a confused half wave back.
“And Will is leaving,” Elizabeth said.
Will’s face hardened. An expression she’d never seen on his face. He’d always been so relentlessly cheerful. She told herself that it was residual tingling that she felt from when they were making out. She couldn’t possibly be turned on. But who was she kidding? Everything about him turned her on. The way he walked, the way he talked, his smile, she had it bad. If only she could return it. This was not going according to plan.
“I’ll call you later,” she said.
After she’d hustled a confused and angry Will out, she came back into the kitchen to find Megan with her arms folded, one foot tapping the ground. “So, who’s this guy? Were you going to tell me about him?”
“His name’s Will and there’s nothing to tell.”
“Didn’t look like nothing. Is he a fuck boy?”
“A what?”
“A dude who jerks you around. Says he likes you and then you don’t hear from him for two weeks when he texts you out of the blue and wants you to come over.”
“No, he’s a good guy.” She’d texted him to come over and then thrown him out.
“Then why didn’t you tell me about him?”
“It’s just... I mean...” How to explain to her eighteen-year-old sister that it was just sex. Except Will wanted more. Oh God, she was the fuck boy here.
“I guess I now know why you don’t want me to come home anymore. You want to bone your not boyfriend without your little sister around.”
“That’s not true. I miss you.” She gathered Megan in a hug. “I miss you so much it hurts. But I want you to have all the things that I had and that won’t happen if you’re afraid to commit to your new life. You can’t hang on to the past. This is your home and it will always be your home, but it’s time for you to spread your wings.”
“This is getting a little too Lifetime movie for me.” Megan squirmed away.
“Shut up, you know you love it.”
“I never told you that you had to become a nun for me.”
“I didn’t want to bring guys around when you were younger. It didn’t seem right and you were still mourning Mom and Dad, and I didn’t want to bring someone into your life who you might get attached to and then they’d leave. And wait a minute, why are you home?”
“To watch Pride & Prejudice with you?”
“Nice try.”
Megan poked through the bag on the counter. Will had left so fast, he hadn’t taken anything with him. “Oh, sweet,” she said, pulling out a large Tupperware container. “There’s cake in here. This guy must really like you.”
Elizabeth told herself the churning in her guts was simple indigestion.
Chapter Eight
Will didn’t lose his temper often. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been angry. He’d been annoyed when his siblings treated him like he was twelve, miffed when the Pats got in trouble for deflating game balls, irritated when he was on the same overnight shift with Tony because Tony snored, but angry? Maybe when he’d gotten suspended for cheating back in eleventh grade because Eddie Flaherty had been copying off his paper during their math final.
