Page 62 of The Fireman and the Flirt

We stopped off for gas at a station outside Sourwood.

“Can I get a snack?” Jolene asked.

“What are you thinking?”

She pinched her face in thought, looking as adorable as ever. “Something chocolatey.”

“Twix?” I asked. It was her favorite. She had a process of taking a bite of one, then the other, and trying to make her bites as even as possible.

“I don’talwaysget Twix,” Jolene protested. “But a Twix does sound good.”

“Get me some kind of chip. Something crunchy. And a water, too.”

She gave me a salute then went inside the store.

I began filling up my gas tank when I heard a familiar voice muttering out expletives. I eased my head to the other side of the dispensing station.

“What the fuckity fuck? I already gave you my credit card.” Cary stared at the machine, as if he were waiting for an answer for why it was acting up.

The commercial on the screen advertising Gatorade blared up.

“I don’t think it’s going to respond,” I said. I swung around to his side, leaning against the dispenser. Cary lit up when he saw me before returning to frustration.

“Hey.”

We had a weird moment where neither of us were sure how to greet the other. I wanted to pull him close for a kiss, but that wasn’t the best idea, especially since Jolene would be out in a minute.

“What’s the problem?” I asked.

Cary raked a hand through his hair. “It’s not taking my credit card.”

“Is there something…”

“There’s nothing wrong with my credit card.”

“These machines can be sensitive,” I said.

“Then they should see a therapist.”

I cracked a smile. At least Cary never lost his sense of humor.

“Here. Let me try.”

“I know how to use a credit card.”

“These machines can be wonky. Let me help,” I insisted.

“I think the thing is broken.” The machine prompted Cary to insert his credit card. He was about to jam his card inside with his typical manic, impatient energy, when I clamped my hand over his.

“You need to leave it in there.” I pushed our hands against the machine, keeping the card inside, my body too close to his but unable to pull away. “Gentle.”

“We’re…still talking about my credit card, right?” Cary said. I could feel his heartbeat vibrate against me. Damn, he smelled good. Crisp and clean.

Before I could answer, the machine beeped its approval and signaled Cary to remove his card. With my hand still over his, we pulled it out slowly.

“I hate chip readers,” he said. “I miss the days of sliding your card. It was like a rush of adrenaline.”

“You have to be gentle and patient with these machines.” I handed his card back to him, letting our thumbs touch, a rush of heat in this cold, cold air.

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