by Lisa Ladew
Someday she'd be ready for marriage, but God knew if she brought home anybody lighter than a snickers bar her mama would slap the shit out of her. She'd hear about it till the day she died, and she did not need that drama in her life. No thank you.
But what mama didn't know about a certain yummy white boy wouldn't bother mama one bit.
***
Eme
When Eme made it back to her small apartment, her nerves sizzled with jumpiness. She'd felt eyes on her in a personal way all afternoon, and she knew it had to have been the new guy, Rosesson. Spoiled rich boy, Baker's words, popped into her head and she grimaced. She hated the thought of him being interested in her, if that's what this was. He was handsome, but it seemed that was all he had going for him. And besides, she wanted nothing to do with men for a while. Like a decade or two.
She dropped onto her couch and thought hard about the situation. If he was interested in her, for some unknown reason, maybe she could get him out of the class somehow? No, that wouldn't work. She had to run everyone in the department through the certification eventually. Maybe she could get Baker to do a little more front-and-center work, have him work with Rosesson in any one on one scenarios.
As the words spoiled rich boy kept flashing through her brain, another image came forward. Two weeks before at Inner City. She hadn't known his name then, but it had definitely been Bronx Rosesson playing basketball with those boys, encouraging them, spending time with them, joking with them. He hadn't been there because he had to be. He'd been enjoying himself. He'd known all the boy's names and their respect of him had been obvious in every interaction. The kind of respect that wasn't bought.
Eme frowned and decided to just give it a rest. She walked to her tiny kitchen table and flipped on her laptop, browsing through the news sites she'd already been through once that morning. When nothing new jumped out at her, she checked the San Francisco Chronicle, only because she had nothing else to do. Her lesson plan for the next day was laid out already, Inner City had accepted her as a volunteer but didn't need her till the next week, and she had no friends or family to hang out with. Even her mother only called her from Portugal once a week.
The headline jumped off the screen and made her heart palpitate in her chest.
Two firefighters hurt. Girl saved from apartment fire.
The fire. The one Top had come from. Everyone had been talking about it in the hallways, she'd heard them. But she never joined in on small talk, preferring to stay in her bubble. Baker hadn't said anything to her either, but he generally respected her desire to stay all business, all the time.
Her mind flashed back to earlier, in class, Rosesson walking away from her, a bandage on the back of his neck, his light, long-sleeved t-shirt hiding something lumpy and bulky on his back. At the time, she hadn't thought about it, hadn't assigned it any significance. She liked her world simple and uncomplicated, and that didn't leave much leeway for wondering about things like bandages.
But as she scrolled down to read the article, she knew what she was going to find.
And of course she was right. Bronx Rosesson, barely out of recruit class, had been at that fire. He'd pulled a superman and went in a window from a roof, saving a little girl from a horrible fate.
She could see the scene unfold in her imagination. For some reason he hadn't been able to get her out of danger right away, so he'd taken off his turnout jacket and draped it over her, providing her full protection and exposing his upper half to burns.
Eme stared at the screen hard, feeling shame slide its cold hand up her spine.
This new information made him sound as little like a spoiled rich boy as a man could get.
What she wouldn't give to have a hero in her life. A true hero and gentleman. A man who would sacrifice his physical safety to help others weaker than him. A man who never hit, rarely yelled, never used his size and strength to take advantage of others.
Men like that had to exist outside of movies and books, didn't they?
Eme shook her head and shut her laptop with a snap. It didn't matter. She didn't need a hero. All she needed was herself.
Her own strength, her own ingenuity. Not only was it all she needed, it was all she had.
Chapter 15
Bronx
Bronx waited outside his condo on the street, watching for Jazzy's car. They'd taken to commuting together, since she came to his place every night anyway. He scratched the back of his neck, then snatched his hand away, reminding himself again to keep his fingers off the healing skin. At least it didn't hurt anymore and he hadn't needed the bandages for almost a week.
That was his only good news. The bad news was class was over in two days and he hadn't talked to Lt. Avalon even once, not even about the class work. She seemed to be avoiding him, never looking at him, never calling on him, always putting him in the group that worked with her assistant, and he knew what it meant. She'd figured out his interest in her and didn't want to deal with it. She wasn't interested back.
The thought put a rain cloud over his day. His whole damn week.
All that time spent in her presence but never with her attention was wearing on him. He'd been dreaming of her each night, dreaming of holding her close to him, of her meeting his gaze head on, of finding out what her body looked like under that uniform, of disjointed episodes of talking, then sex, then more talking, then more sex. But even in his dreams, she never looked right at him, and when he took himself in hand in the mornings and imagined her face, it was shame that filled him, knowing he was dreaming about and fantasizing about someone who didn't want him back.
He was becoming obsessed, and he knew it wasn't good for him, or for her. She didn't share his attraction, and he needed to let it go. Yeah, that was the kicker, he told himself that every morning and every evening and still hadn't been able to do it. If she had seemed just ambivalent, he might have asked her out anyway, once the class was over, just to let her know where he stood and to be sure, but she was sometimes just short of hostile to him. He wasn't in to setting himself up for failure.
The hard part was, the more he learned about her, the more he wanted her. He hadn't learned anything of importance, but he had learned her accent and knew exactly how she would say each of the one million words in the English language. He hadn't spoken to her since that first day, but he knew what kind of coffee she drank in the mornings. He hadn't ever even asked her a question, but he had the curve of her hip and the way she liked to wear her hair memorized.
Jazzy pulled up and he darted between two parked cars to get to her, as traffic honked behind her. Before he could even pull his door shut, she was moving again.
On the way to class, she seemed uncharacteristically silent, until Bronx asked her something he didn't even want to know the answer to, just to hear her voice.
"So what did you and my brother do when he took you home last night?"
"Nothing. Just talked."
"You seem disappointed."
Jazzy sighed. "I am a little. He's a sweet guy. Ordinarily I would have made a move on him already, but I'm not sure it's the right thing to do with him. He's complex. I don't want to rush him into anything he'll regret."
Bronx chewed on that. "You don't think casual sex would help?"
Jazzy's eyes went wide. "What must you think of me, Mr. Rosesson?"
Bronx smirked. He thought she was great, and not quite as much of a man-eater as she tried to act. She had a conscience. "So what's he got that I don't?"
Jazzy took her eyes off the road to throw him an incredulous look. "Wha ... I mean ..." Bronx had to laugh as she stammered. Her eyes narrowed and she spit it out. "You're not interested in me like that are you?"
Bronx's mood stayed south, and even a dubious and stuttering Jazzy couldn't pull it out of the sewer. "No, I mean, I love you Jazzy, but more like the sister I never—more like a sister." Great, now he was thinking of everything that was wrong with him and the fact that he actually had a sister out there in the world tha
t he and his brothers might never find. Fuck that. They would find her. They had to.
Jazzy smiled sweetly and took her hand off the gear shift, lightly touching his fingers. "Aw B, I love you too, you know that right?"
Bronx held onto her, appreciating the comfort she offered. "So what's wrong with me?"
"Is this about Lieutenant Deep Freeze?"
Bronx shook his head. "No. Maybe. I don't know. A little."
Jazzy stroked his hand and he leaned back in the seat. "I've never had a serious relationship, did you know that?"
"So?"
"So, what if there's something wrong with me? What if I'm never going to be that guy?"
"You ever wanted to have a serious relationship?"
Bronx tried to think back over all of his ... girlfriends wasn't really the word. He'd always made it clear he wasn't looking for a girlfriend. More like friends with benefits. Or one-night stands. Women who had wanted to be with him for whatever reason, some of whom had stuck around for longer than others, but none of whom he'd ever made an effort with. They'd been about sex. Nothing else.
But for some reason, he couldn't conjure up one name or one face, except the one who didn't want anything to do with him. The pale blue eyes, the light brown hair, the determined mouth, the strong, sexy body. Emerald Avalon.
When he didn't answer, Jazzy squeezed his hand one more time, then withdrew her arm.
"Tell me a joke, B, it's getting too heavy in here.
Bronx flipped his brain over into joke mode gladly. He didn't want to go down unrequited love alley anymore than Jazzy did. "A firefighter and a police officer both die in the same explosion and go to heaven together. St. Peter issues them their wings and gives them a strict lecture that if they have even one bad or sexy thought in heaven, their wings will fall off."
"Everything's fine, until an attractive woman walks by and as the firefighter watches her, his wings fall off. So the cop, he's watching the firefighter, and when the firefighter bends over to pick his wings up, the police officer's wings fall off."
Jazzy pressed her lips together. "What, was the police officer a woman?"
Bronx shook his head and rolled his eyes. "No Jazzy, he was a guy, that's the point of the joke."
Jazzy bit her lip and nodded her head. "Mmmhmm. Sounds yummy. I'd like to meet them both and make a Jazzy sandwich."
Bronx snorted and looked out the window as they pulled into the parking lot of the admin building.
Another day of restrained rejection. He could handle it. He just had to stop thinking about her in that way. She was his instructor. Nothing else. He could do it.
Really, he could.
Chapter 16
Eme
Eme finished her lunch quickly, then strode outside for a quick walk before the hour was over. Some of the firefighters in her class had taken to eating lunch at the picnic tables outside on the nicer days. She headed that way, telling herself she wasn't looking for anybody, she just wanted some sunshine before she got locked in the classroom for another three hours.
She saw him immediately, sitting next to Jasmine, as always. A rough emotion went through her chest as she wondered again if they were together. She'd seen him get out of her car that morning. Had she slept over at his house? Was she his girlfriend? His lover?
She tipped her face to the sun and told herself it wasn't important. Why would it matter? It didn't.
As she walked past, she heard him speak, that deep rumble making her breath catch in her throat. He was telling a joke, like usual, the silliness of it contrasting with the tenor of his voice.
"The little girl shook her head, convinced she knew the answer. No Johnny, they use the dogs to find the fire hydrants!"
One of the men across from Bronx huffed and the other barked a short laugh. Jasmine threw her head back and rolled her eyes, her hand on Bronx's arm.
Eme smirked. She hadn't heard the whole joke but she got the gist. When he was on break, he was forever telling jokes, and the sillier, the better it seemed. He had a soft spot for frivolous and pointless. There were worse things she could think of him being into.
Her feet carried her past the picnic area and around the sidewalk. She got her heart rate up and then returned on a circular route to the building, walking in with five minutes left on their break.
Baker was there, in her office, his nose buried in a local magazine known for its society news. His brows were pulled down and he was clucking his tongue.
She didn't take the bait, instead pulling the afternoon's handouts out of a drawer.
Baker looked up at her and held out the magazine. "You gotta see this."
She didn't want to. She didn't want to know whatever it was that he wanted to share, but she wouldn't be rude either. She didn't have a lot—ok any—friends in the department and she didn't need Baker becoming hostile.
The magazine was folded so that only one page showed, and immediately she knew exactly what he wanted her to read. She saw a large picture of Bronx Rosesson in his uniform, walking in a parking lot, probably the one just outside the building they were sitting in.
Her eyes flicked to the headline and she felt her gut churn.
Hometown Hero? Local Bachelor Dodges Certain Death, Saves Child
Eme read through the article quickly, the hair on her arms standing on end. She didn't want to see, but couldn't pull herself away. She read the first part that detailed his family with interest, although she couldn't quite say why, then shifted her feet as she read the rest of it. A 'family friend' who didn't want to be named quoted Bronx as saying "Thank goodness I was there. She wouldn't have made it out alive if it weren't for me."
Eme's turkey salad lurched in her stomach as she finished the article. It made Bronx look like a narcissistic asshole who thought he was better than the other firefighters. In short, like a spoiled rich boy. The gall of the publication worked her over. She had no doubt it was all a lie, and that Bronx had never said such a thing to anyone. It just didn't fit with who he was. He was a good man, a kind person, and he never once, in the almost three weeks she'd been seeing him every day, had acted like he thought he was better than anyone else.
Whoever had published that article either had no idea what something like that would do within the rank and file of the fire department, or they didn't care. It wouldn't surprise her if someone had done it on purpose, just out of spite or jealousy. Besides, she knew how ridiculous those types of magazines could be first-hand. How little they really knew about the intimacies of people's lives. Her and Dusan had been featured dozens of times in the social magazines back home, the handsome politician and his beautiful, unassuming wife, painting an impression of a perfect, happy family to the public. Which was the lie of the century.
She frowned as her blood boiled in indignation. Baker stood and grabbed the magazine out of her hands. "Pretty nasty, right? I told you he was a prick."
"Actually, he seems like a nice guy," she said, but Baker was already heading out of the office with no indication he had heard her. He plopped the magazine down on the third desk from the front in the row closest to the door. She knew who sat there. Harrison, who was one of the loudest mouths in the department. A man she did not enjoy having in the class. Eme hurried forward to grab the magazine but before she could Harrison sauntered into the classroom and slid into his seat, picking up the publication immediately. His cocky grin turned sour as he read.
Eme retreated back into her office, telling herself it wasn't her problem. She didn't even know the guy.
***
Eme
Eme dismissed the class, still sick at how many times the magazine had seemed to change hands in the classroom before she had finally caught someone reading it and took it, throwing it straight in the trash can. She chose not to see Harrison bump into Bronx on the way out the door, chose to ignore what that said about the department she loved and worked for. A bad apple or two did not spoil the bunch. Usually.
She wrapped up the day's work and then
retreated into the locker room to change into some street clothes. She was meeting her first little sister at Inner City. The little sister program teamed up adult female volunteers with kids at risk, who could use a caring, guiding friend. She wondered what her little sister would be like, and she imagined a sweet young girl who would like to go for ice cream, or maybe buy her first purse, or go to the playground.
She walked part of the way, then grabbed a bus downtown, arriving right at 4:30. The place was much busier than it had been the first time she'd been there, with teenage boys draped over every piece of gym equipment. The gym sounded different though, with female yells and grunts, cheers, and then music. Eme wondered if they were doing dance recital in there.
The guy behind the desk was the same one who had been there when she had applied and he waved her right over. "Your little sister is in there," he said, nodding at an open door past the gaming consoles. "Here's her file, read it and then give it back to me." His tone was warm, but his eyes kept flicking to her face, like he was nervous about something.
Eme thanked him and took the folder. It was slim, with only one sheet of paper inside that named her little sister as Martina Gabriela, sixteen. Sixteen? Eme laughed at herself. So much for the playground. maybe they could still go for ice cream though. She read through the other details that seemed a little silly, like favorite color: red, and concentrated on the ones that mattered, like favorite free time activity: balling. Balling? Like basketball?
Eme handed the folder back to the man behind the desk and headed to the door. As she walked she heard a young female voice from inside the basketball court yell in a modulated cheer, "Watch me nae nae, watch me whip, watch me get on down and suck that dick." The dirty cheer was met with peals of laughter from behind the closed door, and in the large room where she was, a murmur of appreciative agreement rolled through the boys on the weights.
Eme's eyes went wide and she heard the clerk behind her curse and move quickly that way. She tucked her chin into her chest and tried not to blush. Yeah right.
