by Regina Cole
Eventually, the day would end, and he’d get the chance to try all over again with her.
Even the Santa gig was more fun than he’d thought. The kids were cute, and were genuinely excited to sit in his lap and tell him what they wanted for Christmas. And the books were a big hit. Didn’t hurt that his elf, Allison, looked at him as if he was hanging the moon for her.
At least he knew enough not to read into that expression. Not.
With the last of the books handed out, and the late afternoon light fading in the distance, Nate cut his engine in front of Allison’s house. Damn. Much later than he’d anticipated.
Not enough time to do what he wanted to do. Namely, haul her into his arms and kiss her senseless again.
“I know you’ve got to be exhausted,” she said as she shouldered her bag, “but if you still want to go out to Hopeful Paws today, I can call Everly and see if she can open it up for us.”
“Tempting, but the firehouse is having our holiday party tonight, and I’m giving Chaz a ride. He’s still not cleared to get behind the wheel yet.” Nate looked over at her, letting his greedy gaze have its fill. Damn. He’d been with her all day, but looking at her was like an addict taking a hit. It satisfied him for less and less time with each glance.
“Okay. We’ll go another day, I promise. I owe you huge.”
And with that, she leaned over and kissed his cheek. Nate didn’t move, didn't breathe, didn’t blink.
Her hand was on his arm, her breast brushing his bicep as her soft, warm lips pressed against his cheekbone.
It wouldn’t take much. Just turning his head a couple of degrees to the right. To put his lips against hers, open her mouth for his questing tongue, tangle his fingers in her hair—
“Have fun at your party,” she said with a smile, a real smile, not her “people” smile, and then she was out the truck’s cab and hustling up the walk toward her front door.
He waited until she was inside, the lights on, and the door shut behind her. And even then, he didn’t crank the engine.
“Damn it, Nate,” he cursed himself as he reached for the keys. “Just get the hell out of here.”
But he stared toward the door, willing it to open, for her to step out and crook her finger at him so he could go running to her, sweep her into his arms, and carry her to that big king-sized bed he’d put the frame together for when she’d purchased it about six months ago.
“Not tonight, man. Not tonight.”
He put his sorry ass in gear and got the hell out of there.
* * *
Allison cursed herself for ten kinds of fool as she closed her front door behind her and leaned against it.
She'd fucked up. Big time.
This morning, well, this morning she’d let things go much farther than she should have. And then she’d completely botched things between them. But she couldn’t let things go any farther.
Not until she really understood what was going on.
Shoving off the door, she paced up and down the hallway, brain working furiously.
Facts were her comforts, were her shields from the confusion of interpersonal relationships. All she had to do was to find the facts in this situation and she could understand what the deal was.
Her heels thumped on the wooden floors as she ticked off what she knew.
“One. Nate and I are friends.”
She turned and walked back toward the front door. “Two. Nate and I have kissed twice in the past two days.”
At the front door, she made another turn. “Three. Nate punched out my ex for me last night.”
In front of her bedroom door, she paused. “Four. I want to kiss Nate again. I want to sleep with Nate. I’m hot for my best friend.” She covered her face with her hands.
Oh God. She had no idea what to do. This was way over her head. This didn’t add up into a neat column of figures. This was a complex issue that her usual pulling of strings and schmoozing were completely ineffectual at solving.
Never had her lack of girlfriends been such a huge pain in the ass.
Biting her lip, Allison pulled her phone from her pocket and stared at it. There were probably four- or five-hundred names in her contacts. Roughly half of them had to be female, right? It wouldn’t be weird if she just called one or two of them up to see if they were free for a drink.
No, it wouldn’t be weird. God, why was she so up in her head about this? Allison sighed as she scrolled through her recent call list.
She knew exactly why she was up in her head. It’s because she didn’t do—this. The girly thing. The stay up all night chatting about her love life, getting drunk, and painting her toenails with girlfriends, kind of thing.
She’d never needed girlfriends. She had Nate. Sure, there were women who she was on friendly terms with, but she’d been so focused on her career that anything outside of that had seemed like a waste of time. Nate had been her sounding board, her companion, her buddy.
Now? She needed an impartial third party. Badly.
With her old relationships, she'd made the decisions herself. She’d had the one-woman-island thing down pat, and the times she hadn’t? She’d leaned on Nate, who could always be counted on to help her cut through the emotional bullshit and pick out the heart of the problem. But leaning on Nate, when Nate was the one she needed to talk to someone about, just wasn’t going to cut it this time.
She had to call in some big guns—estrogen-laden ones.
Deb was out, literally, still down in Houston finishing up at a conference. Her mother wasn’t the best person to confide in either. Clementine Kurtz wasn’t exactly Nate’s biggest fan. She’d been telling Allison for years how hanging around “that York boy” would give her a “certain reputation.”
She kept scrolling. Hmmm. That name held some promise. Everly Pitts. The director of Hopeful Paws. Allison had been indirectly responsible for her meeting her now-fiancé at the fundraiser she’d organized for the shelter back in the spring. Everly had just been through her own relationship saga. Would she be free to chat about Allison’s, well, stuff?
Before she could second-guess herself, she dialed the rescue.
“Hopeful Paws, this is Charlie, can I help you?”
“Hi, Charlie,” Allison said, keeping her voice bright and professional. “It’s Allison. Is Everly still around?”
“Well, sort of,” Charlie said with a laugh. “A big litter full of puppies just came in, of course, right here at closing time, and she’s in the back with a couple of volunteers checking them out. Anything I can help you with in the meantime?”
Allison bit her lip for a moment, unsure. Charlie was nice. She'd been incredibly helpful at the bachelor auction event. She was bright, friendly, smart, and forthright. They hadn’t spent much time together, but Allison had liked her.
“Actually, yes,” Allison said, her mind made up. “I wanted to see if you and Everly would like to join me for dinner tonight. My treat.”
“Wow, that’s awesome of you,” Charlie said without hesitation. “And I’m sure I can say yes for both of us, because Everly and I were headed out to eat at Fuzzy’s Tacos after we close up in ten anyway. Drake’s got the all-employee firehouse party tonight, and she doesn’t like to go home to an empty house.”
“Perfect,” Allison said, grabbing her purse and keys and heading into her garage. “I'll meet you at Fuzzy’s.”
The drive over was pretty quick, and Allison used it to rehearse what she would say. Asking for things was part and parcel for her job, so all she had to do was treat this like a business transaction. She was just cashing in on some of the karma she’d built up for the shelter, was all.
All her careful preparation went out the window when Everly and Charlie showed up a bit later than expected. Of course, Allison was halfway into a massive margarita, so that might have had something to do with it.
“Hi,” Charlie said as she slid into the booth. Her usual dark-blonde braided pigtails were trailing over her shoulders. She gri
nned and reached for a tortilla chip. “Thanks for inviting me.”
“Hi, Allison.” Everly, dark-haired, quieter, more reserved, but just as friendly, sank down beside Allison. “You doing okay?”
“Me? Oh, totally, I'm perfect,” Allison laughed, flicking some salt off the rim of her glass. “Absolutely. Just, you know, felt like a girl’s night out.”
“I won’t complain about that,” Charlie said, stretching her arms toward the ceiling. “I feel like I've been doing nothing but stripping wallpaper and sanding floors for the past fifty-two years.”
“Really? Renovations?” Allison would have talked about the gross national product of China, if it had helped her to avoid the real reason she’d needed a night out, so she grabbed onto this conversational thread gratefully.
“She’s restoring her grandfather’s house,” Everly said, dragging a chip through the bowl of salsa in the center of the table. “It’s really beautiful.”
“Eighteen-nineties Victorian.” Charlie wrinkled her nose. “It seemed like a good idea when I started. But now the fucker’s trying to kill me.”
Allison laughed. “And you, Everly, how’s life?”
“It’s good,” Everly said, blushing as she looked down at her left hand. The diamond that sparkled there was a beauty. Had to be at least two-and-a-half, maybe even three carats. “Well, amazing really.”
“You’re so lucky,” Charlie sighed. “I’d kill to have a guy like Nate.”
“What?” Allison’s gaze jerked up to Charlie so fast she almost thought she’d pulled a muscle in her neck. Her stomach had turned a complete somersault, nausea and jealousy whirling inside her. “What did you say?”
Charlie wrinkled her forehead in confusion as she answered, her voice wary. “I said I’d kill to have a guy like Drake. What’s wrong?”
Allison shook her head as Everly reached for her hand. “Allison? You okay?”
God. She pillowed her head on her arms and wished she could crawl under the table. Without lifting her head, she said, “No. I’m not okay. I think I’ve got a thing for my best friend and I don’t know what the fuck to do about it.”
6
Socializing wasn’t Nate’s favorite thing to do on the best of days. Today, it ranked right up there with root canals and penile surgery. Fortunately, Chaz, the firefighter he was driving to the party, felt about the same regarding parties and attending them. Chaz was the best damn guy in the firehouse, to Nate’s mind anyway. He saw things in black and white, kept to himself, and did a damn good job.
If Nate could call anyone other than Allison a friend, it was Chaz Fairchild.
The passenger door squeaked open as Chaz climbed in, wincing as he maneuvered his bum leg into the cab of the truck. According to Chaz’s text, physical therapy wasn’t exactly a walk in the park. That accident had really done a number on him.
“Evenin’,” Nate said, and Chaz returned the greeting with a grunt.
The engine turned over with a groaning roar, and then they were out on the road.
The silence between them stretched out comfortably, giving Nate’s brain plenty of room to wander through territory better left unexplored.
Allison. That passionate embrace this morning that she’d pulled back from. That what-the-hell-am-I-your-grandpa kiss on the cheek just before she’d left his truck a little while ago.
He was starting to get whiplash from the emotional rollercoaster.
“Hey, man, you all right?”
Nate jumped. “What? Yeah, fine, why?”
“You just blew through a red light like it wasn’t even there.” Chaz delivered the observation with zero accusation, just his typical matter-of-fact tone.
“Shit. Sorry, man. Got a lot on my mind.”
“Seems like it,” Chaz said with a yawn. “You must have been with her. You always look wrecked afterwards.”
Nate shot Chaz a glare as he tapped the brakes. “Come again?”
“Had to take some extra pain meds after PT. Filter’s gone off. So, what’s up with you and Allison?”
Damn it. Nate sighed as the light turned green and he eased through the intersection. Chaz got chatty when he was on the pain meds the doc had prescribed after his surgery. Fortunately, at least if history held firm, he’d be a little loopy and wouldn’t remember much of what went on.
A listening ear that wouldn’t regurgitate the words later? That was actually tempting.
“I can’t do it anymore,” Nate said finally. “Watching her with other men. Seeing how defeated she is when it goes sideways.”
“Watching her try so hard and fail gets you.”
Nate nodded, his jaw aching with tension.
Chaz sighed, staring out the window into the darkening night. Nate looked over as they waited at a stop sign. Lights from oncoming traffic bounced off the windows of the many businesses they passed.
“I get that. Payton’s—well, she’s off doing God knows what, for God knows who. Killing herself for whatever this job is, that she won’t tell me about. She talks to me every Tuesday night, just like always, but she doesn’t actually say any-fucking-thing. And the not knowing, not being able to stop her, it’s rough.” Chaz’s head thumped against the headrest as they pulled into the parking lot at Sparky’s.
Payton, Chaz’s step-sister, had been the guy’s driving force and Achilles’ heel since Nate had known him. Nate knew not to ask, even when Chaz threw open the door.
“Ready to do this?” Nate grunted as he cut the engine.
“Let’s get it over with,” Chaz said, shoving open the door as he nearly cracked his jaw open on another yawn.
They walked into the bar, where the party was already in full swing.
“Cowboy!”
Nate smothered his groan. There was one of the reasons he wasn’t exactly looking forward to tonight. The firehouse was full of pranksters, jokesters, and loudmouths, and calling his name was one guy who could lay claim to all three.
Reid the Redneck was grinning at him as he approached.
“There you are. I've been waiting for you.”
“Really?” Nate drawled as he wandered through the crowd to the bar. Chaz wandered off to do his own thing.
“Yup,” Reid said as he squeezed in beside Nate. “Why did the cowboy adopt a dachshund?”
Nate waved to Sparky, who nodded. His Bud was already on the way. He’d get her to bring another one before the first hit the bar top.
“He wanted to get a long little doggy.” Reid guffawed, slapping the polished wood. “Get it?”
“He gets it, dude.” Spencer shoved Reid aside and took the barstool. “How's that paw of yours, Nate?”
Reid wandered off, apparently disappointed in Nate’s lack of reaction to his terrible joke. Nate flexed his fingers carefully. “Better. Doc said it was a mild sprain.”
“That’s good news. I was worried there might be a boxer's fracture in there.” Spencer took a sip of his drink, rum and coke, if Nate had to hazard a guess. The level in the glass barely dropped at all as he placed it onto the nearest coaster. Leaning back, Spencer looked over the crowd behind them.
After accepting his Bud with a grateful nod, and securing his second, Nate followed Spencer’s gaze through the bar. There wasn’t anything of note, to Nate’s eyes.
Sparky’s was theirs for the evening, closed for the Firehouse Three holiday extravaganza. Everyone was there. The Chief, Reid, Hunter, and Drake were deep in conversation by the pool table. Abby and Ty were grooving on the small dance floor in the corner, while Kyle and Liz did a slower, more sedate version of the same dance. There were tons more attendees, hell, too many to even name them all. But Spencer was eyeing the crowd like one of them owed him money. Or knew too much about him. Either way, it put Nate’s senses on alert.
“Everything okay?”
Spencer flashed him a quick smile. “Sure, sure. Just need to hit the head.” He left his almost-full drink on the bar and disappeared in the direction of the men’s room.
&n
bsp; Nate shrugged and found the bottom of his bottle. Sparky had his replacement ready before he could even ask for it.
“Here you go, handsome,” she said, whisking away his empty. “You look like you’ve been through the ringer today.”
Nate gave a wry half-grin. “Not anything unusual about that.”
He’d been putting himself through the ringer for that girl for his whole adult life. And, like it or not, he wasn’t sure he knew how to stop.
He’d found his way to the bottom of his sixth—or was it his eighth?—beer, sitting there at the corner of the bar, doing the party thing the way he liked to—by himself, or with Chaz for a bit when he’d needed to prop that bum leg of his up for a while—when a heavy palm landed on his shoulder. Great. Chaz had taken off a while ago. It was nobody but him and these two gum-flapping yahoos.
“Hey, there, butt head.” Hunter Shaw collapsed onto the stool beside him, his long-sleeved tee shoved halfway up his tattooed forearms.
“Cowboy,” Drake, Hunter’s best friend and the newest recruit to Firehouse Three, said as he plopped his happy ass on the empty opposite Hunter.
Great. Just great. Now he was going to have to talk. They were good guys, and Nate liked hanging around them, but it was harder to get blind, stupid drunk with an audience. The buzz he’d tied on was pretty substantial, but he’d need to double it to not see her “people” face staring back at him in his mind’s eye.
“Evenin’,” Nate said with a nod. He turned back to staring straight ahead, sipping his Bud.
“See? I told you.” Hunter elbowed his best friend with a laugh. “Less than three words.”
Drake shook his head. “You’re not much better. If you didn’t count the profanity, you would match him. How’d you greet me tonight?”
Hunter thought for a second before answering Drake. “‘Howdy, shit-for-brains.’ That’s four words.”
“The insult was three of those. You tied.”
