Page 40 of Played
“Seeing is believing and, well, call me Ray Charles, ’cause I ain’t seen shit.”
He arches that damn eyebrow again. “Oh really? So maybe I should go over there and tell your brother the truth about that dinner, since you blind as fuck now.”
Why does his rude-as-hell mouth get me twisted up inside? I should cuss him out, tell him to put that cock that was poking the shit out ofmy back seconds ago in an anatomically impossible hole. And yeah, a part of me still wants to do that.
But a much bigger part of me just wants to ride that mouth and see if it stays mean.
Jesus.
Heat flashes up my throat and pours into my cheeks. I duck my head, afraid Solomon will be able to read every one of my filthy thoughts all in my face.
I blame everything—the dirty images filtering through my mind, my body’s unchecked reactions—on that kiss. It awakened a libido that had lain dormant since Keshaun. Though, true, I missed sex, nothing in me ached to have it. Craved it. Was like a bitch in heat for it.
That was then. And this postorgasmic kiss is now.
Yeah, I need to get away from Solomon and get myself together. This ain’t what my sanity or my pussy needs.
“I’ll be right back. Try to stay out of trouble until I get back.” I edge around him and head down the hall at a fast clip.
Not running. I’m not running from anyone or anything.
But I’m for damn sure power walking.
I pass the dormitory-style room with our beds, the lieutenants’ offices, and separate sleeping quarters. The chief’s office sits at the end, and next to it is the storage room. I enter, then allow the door to close behind me. I flip the switch, bathing the large space in light.
Now, where was that box? The last time I saw it was when one of the third-grade classes in the area came over for a field trip. The chief’s admin assistant said it should be on the second shelf from the ... there it is.
With a satisfied grunt, I reach for the large box and open the flaps. Pulling out a red plastic fireman’s hat and a gray badge, a toy walkie-talkie, and a fire extinguisher, I smile, imagining Khalil’s reaction to these items. I set the toys on the shelf space next to the box and close it.
“So much for not being a puck bunny. I guess all that shit about not being ready to move on from Keshaun only applied to those of us who aren’t rich hockey players, huh?”
Fuck.
Fuckfuckfuckfuck.
So involved in finding the gifts for Khalil, I hadn’t even heard the door to the storage room open or close. And now Matt stands between me and the exit. Dammit.
Refusing to betray the clutch of nerves twisting and grinding in my stomach, I gather the toys and turn to face him. Because as sad as it is to say about a fellow firefighter, I’d never give my back to him.
Anger slides under the unease. Anger because this asshole can’t take no for an answer. Because his fragile ego can’t handle a rejection. Because he has me edgy and mistrustful in my own firehouse.
“You need something in here, Matt?” I ask, not bothering to answer that question that was a statement with a question mark slapped at the end. It was an insult designed to hurt me and get under my skin. And it did. But fuck if I’m gonna let him know that. “If so, close and lock the door behind you.”
I don’t move forward because I’m not voluntarily bringing myself closer to him.
And he doesn’t move.
My pulse throbs in my ears like a drug-fueled drum solo. It’s crazy that Malcolm and Jared are on the other side of that door, and yet I feel alone, vulnerable. Scared.
“You not gonna answer my question?” His lips twist into a smirk, but the anger in his dark eyes is clear under the storage room’s naked bulb. “You walk around here like you’re too good for anyone. And they treat you like some kind of fuckin’ saint. When all it took was a few dollars and a big name to get you down in the mud with the rest of us.”
“If that’s what you think, then move around like I told you to,” I say calmly, even though all kinds ofmuthafuckas andbitches dance on my tongue with hot coal-lined boots. “I don’t see what the problem is.”
The smirk deepens into an ugly sneer, and the first drops of fear trickle into the disquiet and anger. I grew up with brothers, a father,anda mother who didn’t play that turn-the-other-cheek shit. All of them made sure I got hands and could use them on anyone who tries me. But this isn’t that easy, that simple. He’s a fireman—I refuse to call him a brother. And he can twist the narrative around to make it seem as if I’m the one who made advances and he turned me down. Or that I’m mad because he critiques me hard because of my performance. Or that I’m—my personal favorite—too sensitive when it’s just boys being boys.
Any of those could be detrimental to me rising up the ranks in the department. The odds are already stacked against me like a fucking Jenga tower because I’m Black and a woman. But getting the reputation of beingdifficult...hard to work with...a disruptive problem in the house... being Nolan Wright’s daughter won’t save me. My spotless performance record won’t help me.
My race and sex will trump all that.
