Page 14 of From Air

He doesn’t respond. Typical.

“I, uh ... work with Betty O’Neil. Does that name ring a bell?” I fill a glass with water just to get a glimpse of his face.

“No. Should it?” He offers a quick sidelong glance.

“She thinks she might have hooked up with you ten years ago.”

“And why does she think that?” He sets a lid on his pot of chili and retrieves a bowl.

I finish my glass of water. “Because Will fixed her up with a friend who’s a smoke jumper.”

“This might surprise you, but I’m not the only smoke jumper in town.”

“But you’re Will’s friend.” I lean against the counter.

Fitz crumples half a sleeve of saltine crackers and dumps them into a bowl while smirking. “I can see why you might think I’m Will’s only friend, but I’m not. However, it’s weird that you’re talking about my sex life at work.”

“Because you don’t have one?”

He chuckles. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Not really. I’m more concerned about Betty. She has five kids, and—”

“Five kids is a legitimate concern.” He whistles while ladling chili into his bowl.

“Is it possible that you dated Betty, and you just don’t remember? After all, it was ten years ago.”

“Absolutely not. I keep a scrapbook of all my dates. Photos, cocktail napkins from bars, bullet-pointed details, and a few locks of hair.” Fitz takes a seat at the counter and blows at the swirling steam.

He’s a freak. I thought Will and Maren were joking, as friends do, about Fitz needing a minor fixing.

He glances up from his soup. “Christ, Jaymes. You can’t think I’m serious.”

“You’re an asshole.” I tug the fridge door, fetching my half bottle of wine.

He lifts an eyebrow just before taking a cautious bite of chili, chewing slowly for several seconds. “What does Betty need? Are you coming to me for money?”

I allow myself a generous glass of wine since I’m stuck here alone with Fitz. “Depends.” I take a healthy gulp of the riesling. “If one of her kids is yours, I think you should pay child support and offer to take your kid for a few nights a week.”

Fitz’s lips part, and a small drop of chili dribbles from them. He doesn’t blink. I’m not sure he’s breathing.

“She has five kids from four men. Perhaps you’re one of them.”

Finally, he blinks and wipes his hand across his messy chin. “Jaymes, did you hit your head?”

I set my wineglass on the counter across from his bowl and rest my arms beside it. “You mean to tell me that you’ve never had a one-night stand with a woman? There’snochance that you’ve unknowingly impregnated someone? Do you keep condom wrappers in your scrapbook as well?”

“As a matter of fact, I do. I keep the whole goddamn condom—sperm and all. I count each one of those little fuckers to make sure one didn’t get away.”

“Stop.” I snort, covering my nose and mouth to keep from spewing my wine.

Fitz does his best to hide his grin while he shovels more chili past his lips. I retrieve the remaining quarter of a baguette from my designated pantry. It’s stale. I break off a chunk, dip it into the pot of chili, and pop it into my mouth.

“Did you seriously just dip your bread intomychili?”

I glance over my shoulder and shrug, quickly chewing. “Will said we share condiments.”

His nose wrinkles. It’s kind of cute. “Chili’s not a condiment.”

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