Page 4 of Hot Response
Today, though, even the thought of the overstuffed sandwich he’d been thinking about for half the day couldn’t tempt him. Childbirth might be natural and awe-inspiring, but it definitely wasn’t pretty.
But by the time they’d finished up checking and repacking their gear and gone up to the third-floor living quarters, he was starting to feel better. He figured he’d start with some chips and, if those went down okay, he’d follow up with that sandwich.
“What did you do to piss that EMT off?” Grant asked, taking the bag away from him and shaking some chips out onto a napkin for himself.
“I don’t know. I think it pisses her off when I breathe.”
“You guys have some kind of a history together?”
He knew what Grant was really asking. Had he slept with her and then cut it off badly? “No. The only time I’ve ever talked to her has been on the job, and it can’t have been more than a dozen times, if that. She just doesn’t like me.”
“She’s pretty hot.”
“Yeah, she is. Not my type, though.”
Grant snorted. “You don’t have a type, other than women being susceptible to your so-called charm.”
That wasn’t true, and Grant knew it, since they’d been each other’s wingman for several years. He had a particular weakness for women who were soft and super feminine. It wasn’t so much about makeup and manicures, but women who liked having doors held for them and needed spiders killed and had soft hands.
Cait Tasker was abrasive and tough and there was nothing soft about her. He doubted she was afraid of bugs, and she’d probably give him shit about being able to hold her own damn doors, thank you very much.
But an image of her popped into his head and he decided maybe she had some soft parts, after all. Like her lower lip, which was soft and full and his favorite kind of mouth on a woman. And it was natural, too, since she didn’t wear makeup. More often than not when he kissed a woman with a mouth like that, he had to put up with the faintly burning tingle of those fancy lipsticks that made their lips look fuller. Maybe they did, but they tasted like shit.
But while Cait’s mouth looked like a perfectly kissable mouth, the words that came out of it were a serious problem.
And she’d crossed a line today. She could be annoyed by him. She didn’t have to get his sense of humor. She could think he was an asshole and tell him so, if it made her happy. But to imply he didn’t take his job seriously? That wasn’t okay.
“You’re thinking about her right now.”
“Of course I am. We’re talking about her.”
“No, I mean like really thinking about her. You forgot I was even in the room.”
“I guess I just can’t figure out why she dislikes me so much.” It was partly the truth, anyway. If he mentioned Cait’s mouth, he’d never hear the end of it.
“Does she have any sisters? Maybe you hooked up with one of them and it went south and she has to hate you on principle now.”
“I don’t know if she does or not. I guess it’s possible.” At least that would be an explanation that made sense. “But I doubt it. What are the chances somebody dating a Boston firefighter doesn’t mention her sister’s with Boston EMS?”
“Good point. I guess she just doesn’t like you.” Grant grinned and reached for the chips.
Jerking the bag out of his reach, Gavin was in the middle of telling him where he could shove that suggestion when Jeff Porter walked into the kitchen.
“It’s like living with a couple of teenage girls around here,” he said, shoving his hand into the chip bag.
Danny Walsh, E-59’s LT, was right behind him. “We’ve talked about this, Porter. Pour some chips onto a napkin or paper plate and stop groping around in the bag. God knows where those hands have been.”
“Me? How ’bout where the kid’s hands were today.”
“Hey!” Gavin pointed at the pile of chips he’d shaken out onto the table. “I had gloves on. You could have helped but it takes an hour and half a bottle of baby powder to get gloves on those baseball mitts you call hands.”
He ducked when Jeff tried to cuff him with one of those enormous hands because even in fun, those suckers hurt when they connected.
“This coffee tastes like dish soap,” Walsh grumbled.
“For the hundredth time, LT,” Grant said, “the new dish soap is super concentrated, so you’re supposed to use less.”
“What was wrong with the old dish soap?”
