Page 10 of Venus
She pulls her small purse over her shoulder and shakes her head. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”
“Why?”
She gives me that same seductive smile she gave me last night on the dance floor.
Damn she’s beautiful.
“I don’t want to lead you on anymore than I already have.”
I shake my head. “You didn’t. You haven’t. I’m a big boy, you know. If it goes wrong after another night, then I’ll leave you alone. And not to make it weird, but I think there really could be something between us.”
She smiles again. “You’re not making it weird, but I promise, you don’t want this–” she motions down to her as if to point out flaws that aren’t there. “–forever. Trust me.”
My shoulders sag and I again try to ease the tension by making a self-deprecating joke. “My dick’s that small, huh?”
She giggles and motions to the wet spot still on my sheets. “Yeah, I clearly had a bad time.”
I nod in concession and give her my best charm. “Can I at least have your number? In case you want to have another bad time?”
She grabs the doorknob and opens it before turning over her shoulder. “No numbers.”
“How about your name, then? I’ve been eight inches deep in you, I think a name is warranted. You know mine.”
She tsks playfully. “Don’t flatter yourself. Maybe six and a half.” She looks up as if in thought. “Anyway…I think I like Venus better. Bye, Carter!”
She steps out into the breezeway and her laugh lingers in my ears. Soft…then it’s gone. And so is she.
I stand in my doorway, still naked with the sheet slipping lower and lower on my hips.
I’m a little bit turned on.
But mostly confused as hell.
The first thing I do when I close the door is tear my apartment apart…searching for my tape measure.
Chapter 6 | Vulcan
The crew is finishing our rounds. The one and only fire station in the county is dimly lit while we test the lights and sirens of our beloved engine. We named him Leroy.
Yes, as in Leroy Jenkins.
Yes, we’re idiots. How’d you know?
We’ve got the only engine in the county that’s always rushing headfirst into dangerous (and not so dangerous) scenarios, so we needed to give him a fitting name.
We all head back upstairs to the lounge, and I lean against the edge of the pool table in the rec room while I wait for Jacks to take his shot. He and Trevor are nursing cold cans of Coca-Cola while I chug a Monster. We’re all a little tired. We tend to get this way at the end of our 96-hour shifts. Half alive. Hungry. Sometimes even delirious from the boredom.
“So let me get this straight,” Trevor says with a look of pure mischief. “You had a night in the sheets with the hottest blonde in the county, you still haven’t gotten her name,andyou fumbled getting her number? All thosenights with your right arm really did it in for you, huh? Cooter can’t last a second in a cooter.”
I glare. “Do you want this can thrown at your forehead or your throat?”
Trevor shrugs. “Surprise me.”
I throw my empty can at his head. “Please shut up.”
“Okay so you’re not a three-pump chump.” Trevor continues. “Did you scare her off with your personality then?”
This time, I gently toss the pool cue at him, hoping it knocks him over the head, but he sacrifices the last of his coke to catch it.
